The Changing Life of Vatican City
by RegalMisfortune
Summary: Vatican City was suggested to make friends and live a little. He wanted nothing to do with the outside world. Yet when he goes to bring Italy some biscotti and there are visitors present, Vatican makes a grave mistake that will shatter his sheltered little world. Currently on hiatus because writer's a giant bum.
1. An Introduction of Sorts

Notes:

I have been dwelling on this idea for some time and today managed to start typing it up. I will only post the first chapter for now to 'test the waters' per say. Please review if you want more chapters.

Vatican City is my OC. A clearer description and information will come out in the story, but in case you want a picture in your mind, I'll give you some basic information:

His human name is Varinius (no surname). It means 'uncertain' in Latin.

Vatican has charcoal gray hair and eyes, and is pretty pale. He tends to wear a black suit and dressier clothes, even in the summer. Around his neck is a silver chain, on which holds two keys- one silver, one gold, which refers to his flag. He looks almost nothing like an Italian.

In the past, Vatican City was Papal States, and went through several Crusades. He suffers from mental and emotional trauma because of his battle experiences.

Due to his past, Vatican fears of hurting anyone, even upsetting them. Because of this Vatican is afraid to socialize with others, and therefore does not know the other countries.

At one point in time nearing the end of his reign as Papal States, Vatican snapped, resulting in almost attacking Italy, who was still a child then. This puts some tension between the two- Italy silently fearing Vatican will snap again and Vatican fearing that he will do something to upset Italy and would make him reclaim his home if he stepped out of line, which Italy had done so previously during a fifty-year stretch between the fall of the Papal States and the Lateran Treaty, which made Vatican City an Independent State.

Various tidbits of religious themes and references will appear, just for heads up.

* * *

I never quite understood tourists, especially in the modern day. The clicking of the cameras, the rush to the souvenir stands, the constant chatting into their cellular devices. They bumped up against people, snapping rude words at the contact, even if it was their fault. They tried and butchered the language of the country they were visiting, or ignoring it completely and tried to converse in their own native language, leaving the locals baffled. Yet, there was something about tourists that I couldn't help but find endearing. The look on their faces as they gazed at the beautiful architecture, their faces lighting up as a child in a store as they looked at all the swirling colors of the clothing around them. Their eyes flicker with a spark that had long since been hidden under the pressure and stress of life. The expressions they made when they tried a food they never heard or seen before was priceless- no matter if they found the food revolting or not.

However, I only could enjoy the visitors at a distance, mainly from the windows of my small home. The bustle of their busy bodies, the shrill cry of their voices always unnerved me. I was always afraid that I would somehow make one of them upset, or I'd get upset at one of them in return, and something happened where one of us got hurt. I didn't want to regress back to what I was so long ago. Not ever.

I rubbed my wrists, tracing my thin fingers over the circular scars that were present at the connection of my hand to my arm. I had been a broken man once, a troubled, scared, mad man. I had hurt more people than I could count, their blood splattered across the ground, my hands dripping in the crimson liquid of life. I had cut the strings of the living from the one person I had held close to my heart, and I had almost harmed the very country I resided in. Poor Italy was a child then, and yet I could still see the frightened look in his eyes he had given me so long ago whenever I see him. I could not blame him, nor could I blame him of his actions towards me when he had grown and erased my name from the maps. I was surprised he had given me a second chance, but I am still fearful of myself, what I am capable of.

_"Don't worry about it!"_ Miss Hannah told me many times. _"You are a changed man! You need to go out and make friends!" _

Friends. The very thought made my stomach knot up. Miss Hannah meant the best for me, but sometimes, I wished she could understand what I was. I was Vatican City, an Independent State, a micro-nation, a country that no one seemed to know about, a country that barely knew any other country in person besides Italy and his brother, Romano. As a personified nation, I could not simply go out and make friends with humans. They were frail and blind to what I was. They would notice too easily that I did not age as they grew old and wrinkly. I was too nervous to go and seek out the companionship of the other countries either. I had been in the shadows for so long; I would only cause trouble if I came out of the dark now.

I couldn't even be a friend with Miss Hannah. She was… the lady that checked up on me. Ever since I was deemed capable of functioning without the need of going to therapy on a weekly basis, the Church put it onto themselves to send people to check up on my progress. Every few years the person would change, just so no one would figure out who I really was. Miss Hannah was my seventh overseer, and like all the others previously, thought I was a troubled member of the Church who needed a little taking care of. I did not mind. I appreciated the conservations we had, having contact with a person who was ignorant of my past. It was best kept that way.

Sighing softly, I pulled the sleeves of my black suit down over my wrists, covering the scars there. It was strange wearing such a dark covering in the middle of the summer in Italy, but to the humans that so happened to see me, I would appear as a businessman, a priest sometimes. I shook my head at the thought. I was never up to the standards to be a priest, even a deacon. I was too broken and over my head in sin that eternity wouldn't be enough to wash the darkness that had taken refuge in me. I could only pray and hope that God was as forgiving as they say He was.

Turning my charcoal gray eyes from watching the tourists outside my window, I instead looked around my kitchen. It was small room, the oak cabinets stained a golden brown with marble countertops. There was a small stove in the corner, the metal sink set into the counter under the window that I stood in front of. To the right was more counter and cabinets, leading up to an open sitting area with wide windows that faced a small garden in the side yard. There was no fence, but only a stray lost person ever came stumbling across the grass in front of the windows. A tiny table sat in front of the windows- seating two people would be a tight squeeze- accompanied by a lone wooden chair.

On the table was a small box, tied up with string. That's right, I had put that there. Earlier that morning I had made some biscotti, some meaning way more than I would ever eat. I wasn't much of an eater, or sleeper for that matter, leaving me a rather thin, tired appearance. Yet, even though I knew this, I still end up making too much snacks and treats when I cooked. Sometimes I gave them out to the children I happen to pass when I ventured out of the walled city that was deemed mine and into Rome. Yet, it was the middle of the afternoon, and most of the children would be inside eating lunch or having siestas. Perhaps I should give the extras to Italy. I sometimes did so- putting whatever creation I had at the time into the fridge or freezer, as Italy and Romano were rarely home nowadays. It was easier that way- I didn't have to look at Italy's forced, nervous smile or listen to Romano's yelling of 'old man' and 'incense-sniffer'. No matter how many times I point out that I was younger than both of them, Romano still called me old.

I had to admit- I didn't look anything like the Italian brothers. I didn't even look Italian. My skin was pale from lack of going out into the sun, my hair and eyes a dark gray, my clothing typically consisting of black, white, and gray. My face was thin, my eyes not usually drifting shut or wide, but rather slightly narrowed. I tend to speak Latin where they spoke Italian, and I lacked the winding curl that jutted out both of the brother's heads. Not that I lacked the curl, mind you. I actually had two, although they were well hidden in the longer bits of hair that fell on either side of my face, hiding my ears. The rest of my hair was cut shorter than theirs, though. The only thing that seemed to be related to all three of us was our height.

Running a hand over my hair, I slowly made my way to the small breakfast table, lowering my hands to pick up the box. Although I did not wish to go out into the busy streets of Rome, I wanted to sneak the biscotti to Italy's home without being spotted by him. He would be taking a siesta now if he was at home, and he had a nasty habit of leaving his front door unlocked or halfway open, so it would be easy to slip in and out without being noticed. The hard part would be getting there. I could feel the fluttering butterflies in my gut as I made my way to the front door, the white box clutched to my chest as if it was filled with precious treasure. The movement made the keys on a chain around my neck- one gold, one silver- clink together quietly, reassuringly. It would be alright… right?

I muttered a quick prayer under my breath anyway as I stood there, facing the door. God, give me strength. Swallowing the lump that had formed in my throat, I reached out a shaky hand, clasping the bronze handle and pulled the door open, flooding the room behind me with bright, warm sunlight.

Quickly I shut it behind me as I stepped out, my eyes flickering about at the people who walked passed. They didn't seem to take much notice of me as I shuffled down the steps and onto the cobblestone street. They were too busy looking at the churches and other buildings further down the street to care for me. Yet I couldn't help but tense up, my shoulders hunching almost protectively as I clutched the box of biscotti. A few tourists bumped into me, grumbling in complaint in their own native tongue. I knew several languages apart from Latin and Italian, such as Hebrew, Greek, and English, but some of the words that came from a few of their mouths were lost to me. I muttered my apologies, not wanting to upset them further and hurried my pace.

I was soon out of my home and into the streets of Rome, where even more people invaded the streets, both tourists and Italian citizens. I did my best to keep my distance from the closest person to me as I scurried over the sidewalk. My heart felt like it was going to jump out of my throat at any moment, and I had to keep swallowing to push it down. I would be lying if I said I liked walking the streets when they were like this. Even though it was the typical time for siestas, there were plenty of Italians lingering about the streets. They were mostly nicer than the tourists, always smiling and greeting those who made eye contact. I did my best not to look at them- fear welled up inside me whenever someone tried talking to me. I always felt that they were going to say something crass to me, even though it was almost never true.

I made it to Italy's home without any incident, and I blew out a small sigh of relief. But the battle was only half won. Now I had to see if Italy was home. I walked up the steps to the large wooden door, my footsteps almost silent on the stone stairs. As usual, the door was halfway open, meaning that Italy was most likely home. I shook my head at the sight. Italy should be more careful in shutting it. Even if he didn't keep it locked, leaving it open would only invite trouble. Pushing the door open some more, I paused, a frown forming on my lips.

At the entrance was a pair of familiar brown shoes, but beside those was two extra pairs, pairs that weren't belonging to any set that I knew Italy or Romano owned. One was a pair of black dress shoes, neatly polished and set side by side, unlike Italy's thrown off and tossed to the side ones. Whoever whose those were must take great care in how they look. The other pair weren't even shoes, but rather a pair of boots. Military boots, I presumed. They were well kept as well, neatly set together much like the dress shoes. The presence of the shoes suddenly dawned on me, and a sinking rock fell to the bottom of my stomach and I realized the significance of the new addition to the ranks.

Italy had visitors.


	2. Running into the Axis Powers

I let out a shaky breath that I didn't notice I had been holding. I didn't know how to deal with this situation. Italy had not one but two people over at his house, and if I went in, I would most likely run into them. Then I would have to talk to them.

The contents in the box was rattling slightly as my hands shook, the nerves welling up inside my chest. I couldn't go in and face the guests. Italy would be mad at me if I went in and caused his guests to become upset at me if I said the wrong thing. They might be talking some important business, or it was a friendly visit, I didn't know, and I was too scared to find out.

I was halfway down the steps when a thought popped into my head. It was lunch time, and the guests might be hungry. Italy was most likely taking a siesta, even if he did have visitors over, being the carefree person he was. The new thought made me feel a little guilty. If I left, I would leave those poor people hungry. I glanced down at the white box in my hands, fingering at the string that wrapped around it. If Italy was napping, as I believe he would be, then his guests might be asleep as well. I could sneak in and set the box down somewhere without being spotted. If they weren't taking a siesta and were awake, well… at least I wouldn't have to face Italy.

The thought of leaving the guests hungry overwhelmed the fear leaving them and I found myself stepping back into the house. I may be fearful of people, but I wasn't heartless. I would have something to tell Miss Hannah, at least, the next time she came over. She would be so proud.

The house was… unusually clean. Typically items of clothing loitered around the chairs or in the walkway and dust gathered on the shelves, but so far, I had yet to find a sock or a stray dust bunny. The living room was empty, but I could hear faint voices in the kitchen, as well as a smoky, meaty smell lingering in the air. It sort of smelled like…sausage of some sort. My felt my frown deepen. Italy didn't care much for sausage as far as my memory served me, or even kept it in stock in his kitchen. Perhaps it was made for one of his guests?

I found myself creeping towards the kitchen, my footsteps quiet on the wooden floors. I knew I could have just left the box in the living room and left without any interaction with Italy's guests, but I had to wonder who they were, especially if they brought sausage with them. I pressed myself against the wall beside the doorway to the kitchen, doing my best to keep my knees from shaking. All I had to do was lean a bit forward and peer inside the kitchen. Just a peek.

I could do this.

Breathing in a quiet breath I tipped my head forward, my gray eyes peering around the doorframe and into Italy's grand kitchen. Present was a familiar bouncing curl, a head of short and slicked back golden yellow hair, and the back of another whose head was in one of the cupboards searching for something.

"Germany~! I'm hungry!" Italy wined, tugging on the tall blond man's shirt, looking like a spoiled child.

"Give me a minute, Italy." The blond's voice was a tad gruff, hiding a sigh behind his words. There was an obvious accent present. Judging from what Italy called him, I was safe to assume that this Germany was…well…German.

The German turned, causing me to cringe back behind the safety of the wall. "Japan, have you found the pepper yet?"

There was a quiet murmur of a no.

"Ve~ I'll help you!" Italy's voice sounded, and a loud ruckus of the Italian rummaging in the cupboards ensued. "Romano sure knows how to hide the spices!"

My lips had formed a thin line as I listened to the trio. Italy and Romano were notorious for putting their spices in strange places- and neither of them put them in the same spot. Italy, naturally, always forgot where Romano put them after he was done using them, and likewise with Romano and Italy's hiding. They really were brothers…even if they acted nothing alike.

Despite the nagging voice in the back of my head that told me to leave while I had the chance, I poked my head back into the room cautiously. The German was busy with something on the stove and the other two were still rummaging in the cupboards-the wrong cupboards. They would never find the pepper in there.

"Ve, I wonder where it is!" Italy said, rubbing the back of his head in thought.

"It's under the sink." The words escaped my lips before I could even register what I was doing.

"Thanks, Vati!" Italy didn't even notice, going straight to the sink to grab the pepper.

"Vati?" The one named Germany turned his head to Italy. It seemed to dawn on the Italian, his head snapping up and slamming into the top of the cupboard under the sink.

"Vati?!" He straightened up, hand on his wound, his amber eyes actually open as he stared at the doorway. Right at me.

I tensed up, bringing the white box to my chest, causing the keys around my neck to clink together. "U-um…" Nerves shot right up into my throat, the butterflies lurching in my stomach. "H-hello?" I was unsure of what to say. Italy was staring at me as if I was a ghost and the other two seemed.. well… I wasn't actually looking at them. I really should've listen to that voice in my head.

What came next I wasn't expecting at all. There was a flurry of color, a bouncing curl, and Italy had his arms around me, slamming right into my chest. I barely had time to get the box up above my head so he wouldn't crush them, almost dropping it as I staggered back into the wall. I lost all the wind in me, and Italy had such a grip around my thin frame it was hard to return my breath. "I-Italy?" I could barely wheeze it out, the Italian hugging me so tight.

"Oh Vati! I haven't seen you in a long time!" Italy cried, almost taking out my eardrums in the process, rubbing his cheek against my chest, causing the two keys to click together.

"Italy, let go of the poor man. You're suffocating him." The German came to my rescue, Italy letting go and sat back, actually _looking_ at me.

"Vati, you're pale. Have you been eating properly? Come and eat with us!" He was fussing over me like a worried mother, grabbing my hand and pulling me up off the floor. It didn't take much effort- I weighed much less than Italy, less than what was probably healthy. "Germany's making wurst!"

"W-wurst…?" Was that what the sausage-y smell was coming from…?

My arm was practically wrenched from its socket as Italy tugged me into the kitchen, beaming happily. I cringed under the gaze of his two friends. "Germany! Japan! This is Vatican! He's going to eat with us!"

I was? I managed to draw my gaze from Italy up to the tall German, right into his own blue gaze. I tensed, shaking slightly. "I-I-um… it's…nice to meet…you…?" My voice squeaked slightly at the end. I had never expected to come into Italy's home to find two countries present. This was… a bit more than what I could tolerate.

Germany nodded at my words, a previous confused look fading into a… kinder expression?

"Ja, it's nice to meet you too." Well, that was… better than I previously thought. Although he looked like he could break every bone in my body by even touching me, I felt as if he wouldn't do that. Unless I did something wrong.

My worries were taken away as Italy tugged at the box in my hands. "Ve~ You brought some treats?"

"Y-yes," I stammered, fumbling at the string and opened the box to reveal the biscotti inside. Italy was acting…way nicer than he had the last time I met him. Perhaps it was because his friends were here.

Italy took the box right out of my hands, a bright smile on his face. "Germany! Germany, look! He's brought biscotti!"

"Calm down before you drop the entire box," Germany grunted, turning back to finishing cooking the wurst he had been fussing over before.

Soon the plate of wurst was set out on Italy's large kitchen table beside the box of biscotti I had bought. As I thought, Italy didn't seem to be so pleased with the sausage, but ate one anyway to make Germany happy before helping himself to about a third of the box of biscotti. The German scolded Italy for eating too many carbs, and Italy told him that he was too strict. Japan seemed to sit back quietly, eating his food, imputing here and there, but otherwise remained silent. I didn't mind the Asian. He seemed more tolerable than the German and Italy. He was quiet, but chose words that were truthful and thoughtful, yet refrained from taking either side of the conversation. He was alright.

Germany, on the other hand, was a bit serious. Too serious. He scolded and sat straight and proper, not taking Italy's messy behavior lightheartedly. He had leaned over the table more than once to clean up the crumbs that Italy made by eating the biscotti, grumbling about the mess. At least I knew now who cleaned the place.

The three seemed to have forgotten about me, not that I minded. I didn't touch the biscotti or the wursts, as I wasn't hungry. Being in the same room with three people was enough to send the little appetite I had packing. I sat, fidgeting slightly, my hands in my lap as I kept my eyes from wandering too much, taking interest in a knot in the wood that was shaped a bit like a bird's head. Yet after awhile, Italy turned his attention onto me.

"Ve, Vati, how long has it been since I've seen you last?"

I glanced up, blinking at him. "Um…" I bit my lower lip in thought. When had it been? It was after regaining my home, that's for sure. "A little after the second World War started," I murmured after mulling it over.

"Ve, that's such a long time." The Italian frowned, lost in thought.

If my memory served me correctly, Germany, Italy, and Japan had been the losing side of World War Two. The Axis, was it? It was strange to see them sitting together. It had been years since the war ended, yet they were still friends. It was nice, seeing Italy retaining the same cluster of friends throughout the years. I had remained neutral throughout the fight, so my presence in the war was insignificant. Not that I minded.

"Don't mind me asking, but why haven't I seen you around?" Germany's words broke through my silence, my eyes flickering over to the taller man.

"I…don't get out much," I admitted, trailing my gaze back to the bird head shaped knot in the table. There was a small dark blot in the middle of it, almost like an eye. I hadn't noticed that before.

"Well! I'm going to change that!" Italy suddenly stood up, his chair almost tipping over, a smile on his face. I snapped my eyes up at him, as so did the other two. His eyes were open- that must be a record having his eyes open twice in one day- and he was staring right at me.

"P-pardon?" I stared up at him, fighting the urge to slide right under the table to hide. There was a determined look in his smile that I hadn't seen before.

"Vati," he said, his smile not fading. "You're coming with me and my boss to Russia's home!"

I stared at him, losing all color in my pale face. He wanted me to go to… Russia…?

"Italy, do you think that is a good idea?" Germany seemed a bit cautious. It was strange. I thought the man was tough and strong, but at the mention of Russia, his face had paled slightly. Italy frowned, his eyes drooping close.

"You know how he's like." Japan spoke up, his accent making his words sound a bit strange, but it was understandable. I didn't know what they were getting on about. Was this Russia person scary or something?

"I know, but you two are going to be at America's place the same week, and mi fratello already said he'd rather die than go to Russia. I don't want to go alone!" The Italian turned back to me, a pleading look on his face. "Please Vati! Please come with me! It won't be very long, just a few days!"

I let my shoulders slump slightly in defeat, a sigh escaping my lips. "I suppose if your boss and this Russia doesn't mind."

And Italy's arms were around my thin frame in a tight hug, almost knocking me onto the floor. I didn't understand why Italy and his boss had to go to Russia- it was probably some normal political talk and such- but since Italy needed someone to go, out of the goodness of my heart I couldn't just let him leave by himself.

I just hoped this mistake wouldn't go down in flames.


	3. Of Airplanes and Libraries

Agreeing to go to Russia's place was the easy part. Getting there was utter torture. I didn't think about how we were suppose to get there, but Italy informed me the morning of (I found him sleeping in my mostly unused bed) that we were flying there. I had never been on an airplane, and, quite frankly, it scared the daylights out of me. The very aspect of a person being up amongst the clouds going faster than should be necessary was enough to make my knees knock together. Italy practically dragged me onto the cursed mode of transportation, and I spouted many anguished words in both Italian and Latin at him, I did not struggle. Being limp as a doll was all the fight I had in me.

The flight in the beginning was smooth, but I had my stomach ready to jump out of my mouth at any second so I didn't appreciate it too much. I remained fastened to my seat, eyes shut and saying prayers in my head. Italy, on the other hand, had gazed out of the window, crawled over me to use the bathroom, chatted it up with the nice ladies with the food, and had sprawled out across my lap for a siesta. That was the good part. The worse came when the airplane got closer to its destination and found itself in a lovely storm cloud.

Let's say I became quite close to the interior of my jacket and almost cause Italy to lose all circulation in his arm.

The Russian weather greeted us with a downpour of ice cold water. Neither Italy or I had dressed properly and by the time we got to what Italy said was Russia's home, we were soaked through. I would've stopped to take in how huge Russia's house was, but the weather wasn't permitting it. At least the inside made up for my lack of gazing over the exterior. The marble, the wood, the carpets, everything seemed luxurious and… largely scaled. Whoever this Russia was, he surely liked having furniture big in proportion. Perhaps it was just me and my perspective since I liked having things small and little in quantity.

Russia was, apparently, not home. There was a note that Italy found that said to make ourselves at home (Italy seemed to relax at that, though I don't have the faintest clue as to why) and he dragged me a flight of stairs and into one of the guest rooms.

"You're going to stay with me!" Italy said as he began stripping out of his wet clothing. I gave him some space by venturing into the bathroom that the room had to get out of my own dripping clothes.

"Why do I have to stay in the same room?" I asked quietly, pulling on some drier clothing. I don't have much for extra clothing, so I had to borrow some of Italy's clothes. The bright scarlet turtleneck was a tad bit itchy and the pants were a bit loose at the hips, but I could care less. It was way warmer than the clothes I was wearing previously.

I heard a sigh come from the bedroom, the creak of the bed as Italy plopped down on it. "Russia is scary and creepy. I don't want to sleep alone with him in the house."

I hung my sopping wet clothes in the shower to drip dry before stepping back into the bedroom. Italy was curled up around a pillow, looking at me. There was only one bed in this room, and I knew Italy didn't mind sharing, but I was a tad bit uncomfortable. The thought of me waking up in the middle of the night from a horrible dream and had accidentally smacked the poor Italian in my sleep caused me to shiver. Or that was the cold from being drenched. I really didn't know.

"Alright," I murmured. My bare feet made little noise against the wooden floor as I walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. "I will share the room with you."

A smile broke over Italy's worried face. "Ve, thanks Vati. You're the best."

The words struck me odd. I was… the best? Did Italy manage to get over his fear of me? A feeble twitch of a smile appeared in the corner of my lips as I patted the Italian on the head. "Grazie, Feliciano." The name seemed foreign coming out of my mouth. I hadn't said Italy's name in… well…I had never said his name before.

He just smiled sleepily up at me before letting out a wide yawn. "Siesta time~ Wake me up when Russia comes back." And he was fast asleep. It always amazed me how quickly both he and his brother could fall asleep.

I rose up, pulling a blanket over the sleeping Italian before turning to the door. Curiosity was getting the best of me. I knew Italy's home was way bigger than mine, but this place was _massive_. I couldn't help but want to explore every nook and cranny there was in this place. With Italy asleep, I didn't have to worry about him and his doomsayers words of 'Russia is scary!'. Really, Italy found everyone scary if they had a scowl on their face. I was surprised that he was even friends with Germany. _That_ guy was scary. He acted nice to me when he and Japan were at Italy's house, but I got the feeling he could easily defeat anyone that got in his way.

The bedroom door shut quietly behind me as I gazed around the hallway. I figured most of the rooms upstairs were bedrooms, so my best bet in finding something interesting would be downstairs. The wood boards were cool underfoot as I made my way down the stairs, the steps creaking quietly as I put my weight on them. The front door was straight ahead at the bottom of the stairs, a coat rack off to the side. To my direct left was a large living room, a hallway leading passed the stairwell and further into the house. To the right was a doorway, opening into the dining room and possibly the kitchen.

Being the natural lefty that I was, I glanced into the living room. There was a large, dark colored couch, a loveseat, and other miscellaneous chairs centered around a coffee table. A television was mounted on the far wall, and a fireplace in the corner. It was nicely placed, and although the furniture seemed old, they were in pretty good shape.

I made my way down the hallway, spying more doorways down it. The first one I creaked open let out a cool, damp breath of musty air. Steps disappeared into the darkness. I shut that door quickly. I was curious, but there was no way I was going down into a basement. The second door further down opened to a study. A large mahogany desk stood near the windows, a fireplace in the corner. Papers piled up all over the place, some had tipped and spilled across the floor. I figured it was best not to go in, that door closed as well with a soft click.

The third and last door led to a library. I don't say this too often, but, holy hell, yes. I scored big time.

This library was _huge,_ much grander than my own little room of shelves. There was no window to this room, and everything was covered in a layer of dust. No wonder the door had been hard to open- no one had used this room in ages. I fumbled for a light switch, the lone light bulb on the ceiling flickering to life. It cast a sad shadow over the bookshelves, revealing more of the lack of use.

Leaving the door open (I was afraid I wouldn't get it open if I shut it), I ventured further into the room, collecting dust on the bottom of my feet and leaving footprints in my wake. It was sad seeing all these books being left unappreciated, but there was a very good reason, I believe. Countries were busy; after all, this Russia probably has been preoccupied with work to read. Unlike me, who has been hiding from the world, locked up in my house for so long.

I trailed a finger over the spines of a set of books, leaving a path of clean amongst the land of gray dust. The faded gold lettering of titles glimmered dully in the dim light. Most were in a language I don't know, a few were in English or what looked like to be some sort of Asian text. Here and there there'd be a book that lacked a title completely, either so worn the lettering faded or never had one. They were in decent shape for the most part; a few had fraying or torn covers but nothing too extreme.

I pulled a book out of the group gingerly, opening its pages to get a whiff of dust. The pages were yellowed with age, but the text was clearer than ever, even if it was in a different language. I flipped through the book, watching the written script pass in a blur of dark gray and yellow. It was probably a decent book- too bad I couldn't read it.

The book went back to the shelf to join the others, my eyes trailing towards the other shelves. There were hundreds of books in here. I wished I could read whatever language they were written in. It was a slight inconvenience, but I shrugged it off as I wandered over to another shelf.

"Oh, there are some in English here…" I murmured to myself, reaching up to dust off the spines of the books. The wooden floor was sort of cold, my toes getting the tingling feeling of starting to go numb, but I ignored it. I wouldn't be in here for long, I told myself, wiggling my toes slightly to warm them up as I scanned over the titles of the books before me.

I gently slid a black covered book, cracking it open to peer at its contents. I underestimated the age of these books. The English ones were written in the way of the past, where the spelling of the words then seemed like they were written by an illiterate child now. Even punctuation was horrendous in today's standards. Yet, these books held an appeal to them that books today lacked. They had character.

A small, feeble smile crept into the corner of my lips as I flipped through the pages, gazing over the words written on the yellowing paper. It was pretty interesting, so I paused at a page to read it. I became engrossed in the book, losing myself in the book that I didn't realize a shadow had loomed over me. It wasn't until a warm breath rustled the top of my hair that I snapped myself out of the world in the book and realize that I wasn't alone in the room anymore.

My body froze up at the realization, my eyes fixated on the one spot in the book. I was too scared to look back at what sort of person or creature was behind me. If I did, it probably will kill me. Yet I couldn't just stand here pretending to read this book with that _thing_ breathing down my neck. I know I had to turn around and confront it, but, what should I expect?

I took a deep breath, the dust tickling my throat, but I ignored it. Maybe it was just Italy being a bit creepy on me. Yeah, that was it. He was playing a game and wanted to scare me. All I had to do was turn around and tell him to knock it off.

Gathering what little courage I had in my thin frame, I snapped the book shut and spun around to face the person behind me. Yet, I didn't see a face. I came to look straight into someone's thick, gray coat and draping white scarf.

This… wasn't Italy…


	4. Russia and Borscht

I stared into the coat for a second, a bit taken aback. I really didn't know what to expect when I turned around, but not a giant. How did he get behind me without making a noise? How did he even get into the _house_? There had been no door slamming or footsteps throughout the quiet place that I knew of.

My charcoal eyes slowly rose up, following the mountain of white scarf wrapped over broad shoulders to a pair of thin lips curled into a small, child-like smile, passed a rather large nose before my gaze finally came to rest on a pair of violet eyes that stared down at me.

I never felt so miniscule in my life.

I mean, I knew Italy's Germany was tall, being a good head's height above the Italian and myself, but this man had to top the cake.

Now that I thought about it, he was standing pretty close- enough to feel his warm breath on my face, rustling my hair slightly.

I quiet squeak came out of my lips, instinctively forcing myself backward. I didn't realize how close I was to the bookshelf behind me either, until I took the sharp shelf edge square in my bony spine and cracked the top of my head on the shelf about that. Yelping, I jumped forward, trying to get away from the pain, and ran face first into the man's chest that in my flight had forgotten. I gave up completely then, my body shutting down as my shoulders slumped, my face still planted into the man's gray jacket. My back hurt, my head throbbed and was probably bleeding, and I felt my face and ears growing hot with embarrassment.

"_Purgando_…" I mumbled into his coat, feeling my grip loosen on the book in my hand, hearing it land with a soft thump on the dusty floor. I wanted to curl up in a hole and die then.

A weight rested on my head, a chuckle bubbling from the chest I was in. "You are a funny one." The voice had a strange accent, strange like Italy's German friend, but it was hard to compare the two. German was a harsh language, the accent gruff, but this accent lacked the harshness, yet contained… well…something. I couldn't put my finger on it.

A voice suddenly called from the hallway, footsteps on the wooden floor. "Vatican? _Cosa c'è di sbagliato_?"

I heard the footsteps approach the doorway, then stop suddenly. "R-Russia?!" He spluttered, before the words managed to get out. "What did you do to Vati?!" He sounded mortified, almost like he was about to scream and run from the room like someone who spotted a rather large bug sitting in the middle of their bed.

"Eh..? So this is Vatican?" the man whose chest I was using as a pillow spoke up. The hand on my head moved, but only to stroke my hair back down. "You are taller than I expected."

The comment put some strength back into me, lifting my head from the man's chest to look at him. His violet eyes glinted down at me, his innocent looking smile still playing on his lips. I didn't know what to say to his comment. In the past, people thought I was on the short size, especially when I was suited up for war. I didn't know what it'd be like now, but I figured it would be the same way. Apparently I was wrong.

"T-thanks…" I mumbled, managing to straighten up completely. I could still feel the burn on my ears. I turned my attention to Italy, who looked rather pale. "It's alright, Italy…" I said softly. "He just startled me, that's all." I rubbed the back of my head, wincing slightly as my fingers ran over the sore spot of my head. At least it wasn't bleeding.

Italy still didn't seem convinced. "But… it's Russia!" I couldn't help but frown. If this man was Russia, as I believed Italy said, he wasn't all that bad. He wasn't creepy. Well, standing behind me was a tad on the creepy side, but wasn't scary or anything, even if his mass equaled to about five of mine. He was even _smiling_. I don't believe I saw Germany smile even once when I saw him.

Italy's taste in who to befriend or not was strange.

The huge man in question smiled and moved away from me, giving me room to bend down and pick up the book I had dropped. "Let's get along now, da?" His smile remained on his face as he sauntered over to Italy, draping a large arm over the smaller man's frame. Italy was shivering, stuttering as he tried to get words out of his mouth but failed to do so. He really was scared of this man… I shook my head at the sight, letting out a quiet sigh as I slid the book back onto the shelf.

I followed the violet eyed man as he dragged Italy with him out of the library, making sure to turn off the light and closing the door with a silent click before I caught up with them in the kitchen. It was pretty rustic looking, but it fit the character of the house. Brick, wood, and other little hints of older make with little steel like I've seen in some of the magazines that were on sale at the stands outside. It was rather nice. Russia was saying something about cooking, and Italy was already up to the challenge. Apparently if he was going to get fed, he wanted food that he made himself. I sighed. It wasn't like Russia wasn't going to poison him.

I sat back in a chair and watched the two. Russia seemed to get close to Italy, causing him to get shaky. Russia also had a thing of moving items around the kitchen when Italy's back was turned, tending to the boiling pot of pasta he was making. That led to Italy all over the kitchen trying to find ingredients, with Russia's smile ever present, watching him flounder. The taller man, in between messing with Italy, was making… well…something. I didn't know what it was. His broad shoulders tended to hide whatever he was doing.

I watched at a distance, keeping myself out of the mess, as the two of them seemed to take up the entire kitchen. I wanted to help, but I didn't want to fight with them. It was kind of endearing, seeing such a large man toying with the much shorter Italian, watching him flail helplessly. No, I shouldn't think like that. Past me would've agreed to the thought, but present me shoved that thought straight into the round file in the back of my head and gave myself a mental scolding. Bad me, bad.

Partway through Italy set a cloth on fire by accident in his flustered state after spending five minutes running around looking for the thyme. I stepped in then, shooing him off to another room to cool down after the fire was contained. He quickly left the kitchen without much fight, nearly tripping over a chair in the process.

Sometimes I worry about him.

It seemed that playtime for the Russian ended with Italy streaming out the door to hide on the couch in the living room. I didn't mind, busy chopping up some vegetables. I like to cook. It was rather relaxing, but required some thinking unless you wanted a cut finger. Yet, I couldn't help myself but let my mind wander. Cooking was one of the few skills I retained after the painful transfer from Papal States to Vatican City. I had put down the sword to pick up a book in its place. My words had been silenced, and my constant bubbling anger had melted to a constant state of sadness and self-berating. I had lost all connection to the world around me, yet I knew myself all too well. I had lost many things, replaced a few, but still, I feel… empty.

I put the vegetables aside, turning my attention to the pasta. I scalded my fingers a bit when I fished a noodle out to try, but I ignored the pain. Unlike Italy, I don't cook pasta that often. It's good, but, I would rather have something else.

Feeling that the pasta needed some time left to cook I turned to do something, but I stopped, staring blankly at the vegetables. I was missing something. I didn't know what. I blinked at the counter before slowly looking over my shoulder at Russia. He was still doing God knows what, but his smile was curled up into that mischievous look I saw planted on his lips when he was teasing Italy. He had done something, but, I couldn't tell what was missing. I wasn't playing this game. I wasn't in the mood.

I turned back, staring into the depths of bubbling water in the pot. I didn't have time to let my mind wander when Italy appeared back in the kitchen.

"Glad for you to join us again," Russia said, turning his child-like smile to Italy. The Italian shuddered and shuffled his way behind me, quivering.

"Italy, why do you fear him?" The thought had been nagging me for some time, but my previous thoughts had pushed it aside. Now as Italy came back into the picture, so did the question.

"B-because!" he squeaked, clinging to me as if I was his last and only lifeline. "He scares me! He's evil, Vati."

A frown found my lips, a common expression on me as I rarely did smile. "Italy, it's rude to call people evil," I murmured. "And I was scary once, too. Did you forget?"

He opened his mouth, and then closed it, his lips forming a thin line. I turned my gaze back to the bubbling water, feeling his arm unwrapped from mine. "No." It was barely a whisper, but I heard it as if it was a shout, sinking straight to my heart. It was best if he didn't forget, in case my inner demons showed their faces once more, but it still hurt to hear his fear, no matter how well it was hidden.

I acted as if nothing was wrong, picking up the pot of pasta and putting it in the sink. "Good. Drain this out, will you?"

The curl bobbed as the Italian turned his attention to taking care of the pasta, leaving me to turn around. It occurred to me then, now that I forced myself out of my thoughts, what was missing.

The Russian had moved the knife to the far side of the kitchen, blade first in the blender.

I was beginning to worry about Russia, too.

After everything was ready, I found myself sitting at the large dining room table. We sat at the one end of the table, much to Italy's dismay. The Russian sat at the head of the table, while Italy shook in the chair to my right. I was stuck in the middle of the two. Not that I minded.

The dish that Russia had been working on was borscht, and he took it onto himself to heat it up for us. Italy didn't touch it, helping himself to the pasta he made instead, but I was quite intrigued with the beetroot dish. It was actually pretty good despite only eating a little bit of it, and I was curious as to how it was made, but the room was awkwardly silent apart from the clinking of silverware. Every time I even looked like I was going to speak, Italy would elbow me in the ribs and give me a pleading look. So eating was a silent ordeal and afterwards Italy dashed up the stairs, leaving the Russian and myself to clean up.

For a person who was afraid of the tall man, Italy was quick to abandon me with him.

"Sorry for Italy's behavior," I said, my arms elbow deep in soapy dishwater as I scrubbed at some cooked on substance.

"He's always like that," Russia chimed from somewhere behind me. "But, I was wondering about the conversation from before…"

I tensed up at that. He was talking about the one with Italy forgetting I had been scary. "It's nothing," I mumbled to the plates in front of me. "It's ancient history."

There was a hum, possibly as the man was trying to think up of another topic to skewer me with. "I like the borscht you made," I said quickly, hoping to distract him from any further disgruntlement on my part. "Can you tell me how to make it sometime?" I took the chance to peer over my shoulder at Russia, whose innocent smile was visible once more. I was starting to wonder if his face froze like that.

"Da, I can," he said, sounding quite pleased with himself.

Well, I averted one harsh topic. I deserved a nice long hideout in my home after this.

* * *

Translations:

Latin: Purgando- Apologies.

Italian: Cosa c'è di sbagliato?- What's wrong?

Borscht (also spelled 'borsch and several other ways) is a soup common in Eastern Europe with a beetroot base which gives it its red-purplish color. It's served both hot and cold. It's technically an Ukrainian dish, but meh.


	5. Sister

The rest of the evening had been quiet. Russia had been kind enough to write down the recipe for the borscht before he disappeared into his study, probably to tackle the mounds of paperwork. I went to the library to take the book I had been reading earlier with me before I went up the stairs to deal with Italy. Though, he hadn't been much of a problem. I thought he'd be mad at me for not understanding his fright of Russia, but when I returned to the room, he was his usual bubbly self, wanting to know what I had been doing since the last time I saw him at his house. I didn't have much to tell him, but it was enough to put him to sleep.

Italy sure liked eating and sleeping.

I was a tad jealous of the sleeping bit.

I remained in the room, sitting on top of the blankets; Italy sprawled under them on the other side, sleeping peacefully. I wasn't tired; I rarely was, so I continued reading the book in the older English. It was a rather interesting book about English colonies back in the 1800s. It was more of a documentary rather than a story, with hidden slurs within the pages, but still, it was history. History always had dark undertones, no matter what timeframe you looked at.

I heard the creaking of the steps as Russia eventually went to bed near midnight. About an hour after that I placed the book aside, unwrapping Italy's arms from my leg that he had wound around in his sleep and left the room quietly.

When I couldn't sleep and grew bored of reading, there was one thing I had a habit of doing in the middle of the night- baking. I had a soft spot for cooking sweets and pastries, even if I made plenty enough for multiple people. It kept me busy.

Upon entering the kitchen, I flicked on the lights. Without Russia or Italy present, the kitchen seemed huge like the rest of the house, yet, strangely empty. Apart from the island in the middle of the kitchen, everything else was along the walls, leaving plenty of space to walk around.

My first visit in the kitchen was the fridge. I peered inside, gazing over the contents. There were plenty of eggs and butter, milk and vegetables. I could really make anything cooking-wise, but baking wise, they were just the few ingredients I needed. Shutting the fridge, I searched the cabinets and cupboards, looking for the basics of baking. The flour and sugar was in the same cupboard, side by side in large metal containers. I pulled the containers out and lifted the lids, smiling at the contents. There was plenty to make whatever I wished. Glancing up, I spotted several dark bags that had been hiding behind the containers. Chocolate chips.

Cookies sounded delectable right now.

So I went to work, finding bowls and measuring cups, pulling out all of the ingredients I needed and setting them in a row on the island. Having done this in the middle of the night for so long, I knew how to be quiet in my cooking. Disturbing people's rest was the last thing I wanted. With the stove preheating I found the proper cookie sheets, frowning at the fine layer of dust on them. I would have to wash them off before I could use them.

Turning to the sink, I turned the tap on, watching the water run over the metal sheets, taking the dust with it. With the trays now cleaned and dried, I began to mix the ingredients together in the bowl. Flour, sugar, milk, chocolate, they all went in into the mix, along with other ingredients. I mixed it together with a spoon, since it seemed that there was no mixer in this kitchen. I didn't have one either, but I've seen one in Italy's kitchen and in pictures. I didn't mind mixing it by hand- it was time consuming, which is exactly what I needed. I had all the time in the world.

With the first two trays filled up and in the oven, I had time to sit back and relax. A prickling feeling on the back of my neck hinted at an indication that I was being watched. Strange, I hadn't heard anyone coming down the stairs. I glanced around the kitchen, frowning slightly. I didn't see anyon- oh.

In the shadows of the doorway, a pair of eyes stared at me.

I jumped slightly, startled at my find. "O-oh, um, hello?"

The pair of eyes moved, the face they belonged to coming into view as the person stepped into the light of the kitchen. The woman was short, much shorter than I was. Her light blonde hair was long, falling behind her back and shoulders. She wore a blue dress, a white bow placed on the top of her blonde locks. Her violet eyes stared at me, a familiar shade of amethyst. She would be considered pretty if her face wasn't contorted in a rather slightly grumpy/angry look.

Seriously, how the hell are people sneaking into this house without me noticing?

"What are you doing in my brother's house?" Her voice held a sharp tone with help of her accent. Her eyes were narrowed and she didn't look too happy. She was what Italy would call 'scary'. I would have to agree with him on that.

"I accompanied Italy here," I said quickly, not wanting to endure this lady's wrath. "If your brother is Russia, he just went to bed about an hour ago. You shouldn't talk so loud unless you want to wake him up."

At the mention of Russia, the woman seemed to relax slightly, but her dark expression remained on her face. Feeling that I dodged the bullet for now, I turned to the oven, peering at the contents. "You can stay in here if you want. There's some borscht that Russia made in the fridge if you're hungry." Even though I found this lady terrifying, I forced myself calm and kind to her. I didn't want to stoke any fires with anyone.

I heard a scuffling behind me, the fridge creaking open. I shut the oven, feeling that the cookies needed a bit more time to cook. I glanced over my shoulder, seeing the blonde lady with the leftover bowl of borscht in her lap, spoon in hand. She seemed rather content, hungrily eating the beetroot soup. Whoever she was, she sure liked it.

"Not to be rude," I said slowly, watching the blonde woman cautiously. "But, may I ask who you are?"

The eating stopped, the sharp violet eyes boring holes into me. "Belarus," she retorted before going back to the soup.

Sorry for asking.

"Well, I'm Vatican. It's nice to meet you." I did my best to smile, but all that came out of me was a sad twitch in the corner of my lips. I couldn't even make a fake smile anymore.

I turned back to tending the cookies, the kitchen falling silent as I placed the warm food onto the cooling rack before putting more dough on the hot sheets and back into the oven. I actually didn't mind this Belarus being present, as long as I didn't look at her. I was beginning to feel that meeting these countries one at a time seemed like the best option I had if I was ever going to run into any more. Stumbling upon Italy with Germany and Japan had been too overpowering, the very memory making my stomach churn. Meeting up with Russia had been shocking and finding his sister glaring at me from the doorway was a tad bit creepy, but in all honest truth, it hadn't really caused my nerves to get in the way.

Three was a crowd for me, apparently. And I hated crowds.

Time ticked by as I baked the cookies, soon running out of dough. I had cleaned up the rest of the baking mess in between taking the sheets out of the oven, so the only thing I really had to finish cleaning were the cooling racks and the sheets themselves. I would have to leave the cooling racks out, though, just so the cookies wouldn't get soggy from being stuck in a container still warm. Also, I didn't know where exactly to put said cookies. I had a jar at home, but I have yet to see any of the sorts in this kitchen. Russia would just have to tell me later what to do with them.

Placing the last cookie on the rack, I let out a sigh. It had been a few hours, but it was nowhere near time for anyone to be getting up. I turned to the sink, washing the sheets after letting them cool for a bit. Dying them off, I put them back where I found them last and turned to look at Belarus, who hadn't said a word since the last conversation.

She was still sitting in the chair, the empty bowl of borscht on the floor beside her. Her eyes were closed, her chin resting on her chest, arms crossed. She was sleeping.

Another twitch in the corner of my lips appeared as I looked at the sight. Really, she didn't have to fall asleep watching me bake. The wooden chair was way too uncomfortable. Shaking my head, I walked over to her sleeping frame, unsure of what to do. I could carry her up to one of the guest rooms, but I was unsure if I had enough strength to do so.

Well, she couldn't sleep in the kitchen.

Wrapping one arm under her knees gently, the other around her shoulders; I lifted her up off the chair in a bridal-style, wincing slightly as a stab of pain rippled from my back. I definitely had a bruise where I slammed into the library shelf. Despite her height, she was pretty heavy, combined with my lack of muscle. I couldn't carry her up the stairs.

I moved slowly out of the kitchen and into the living room, gritting my teeth as I did my best not to let my arms give out. Luckily she didn't even stir as I set her down on the couch with a sigh of relief, standing back and rubbing my arms. She needed something to cover her.

Glancing around, I found no blanket in sight, so I went quietly up the stairs to Italy's room. Half the blankets were on the floor, Italy sprawled out in the middle of the bed, taking up all the space. I stole one of the discarded covers from the floor and went back downstairs, draping it over the sleeping woman.

I was too nice, I told myself, watching the girl sleep. But I brushed the thought aside, sighing. Even though she had been rather rude to me, I couldn't be rude back. It wasn't right.

After a few minutes of watching her, I stood up, figuring I was being a bit creepy watching Belarus sleep and went back up the stairs to the room. I picked up the book off the nightstand and settled myself down in a chair by the window, reading until the faint lights of the sun peeked through the dark clouds in the sky and footsteps and voices sounded on the floor below.

I glanced up from my reading when a muffled music came from somewhere in the room. I frowned, my brows furrowing. Italy stirred, yawning as he reached into the pocket of the shorts he wore to bed, pulling out a cell phone. Oh, so that's where the music was coming from?

He answered it sleepily, listening to whoever he was talking to before smiling and hung up. He glanced over at me and grinned. "That was my Boss. He said we're going home this morning."

That seemed to set Italy in a good mood, as he was up and dressed and blabbering all the while to me as I sat in the corner, listening. Apparently whatever his Boss and Russia's Boss had to do went smoother than expected, so they could go home early. I sighed as I packed Italy's bags for him, as he was too busy talking and bouncing on the bed in excitement.

I managed to usher him down the stairs for breakfast, only to stumble upon a strange sight. Russia was eating some sort of cereal standing up, for the reason that Belarus was clinging to his waist, not wanting to let go.

"We get to leave today!" Italy chimed, apparently too happy about the news to care that Russia was scary.

"I heard," Russia said behind a spoonful of cereal, watching Italy spot the mound of cookies and helped himself to them.

Little was said throughout breakfast, and Italy and I were packed and ready to leave. Russia said he couldn't see us go- mumbling something about having things to do while his sister continued to cling to him like a magnet. Italy didn't seem to care, humming happily as we made our way back to the dreaded airport to catch a flight home.

I thought back at the encounters I have had so far. Germany and Belarus were two people I wouldn't mind not seeing ever again. I would be nice to them, as I wasn't a very hateful person, but still, they were a bit scary. Japan seemed nice enough, more of the silent type than anything, not that I minded. I wasn't too sure what to think about Russia as of yet. He seemed like an okay person, but some of his actions made me worry about him. I glanced over at Italy bouncing alongside me, a frown on my lips.

I sure hoped there wouldn't be any more scary nations. Two was enough for me.


	6. Italian Intervention

Warnings: Contains language and emotional roller coasters.

* * *

It had been several weeks since visiting Russia, and I hadn't seen Italy since then. He was probably busy, with the summer season drawing to a close and the tourism dwindling. Miss Hannah, the woman who checked up on me, had left a note the day I came back saying she was being transferred. No one replaced her. I had mixed feelings about this discovery. I was glad that the big honchos of the Church felt that I was stable enough to be left alone without being babysat. Yet, I missed having the weekly visits where I could just sit and talk to a person for once. The past days had been spent cooking, cleaning, and reading. I had several walks during the early morning when no one was up, but during the day I locked myself in my home, avoiding the crowds.

This morning was a tad different. With less and less people showing up near my home as of late, I gathered the courage to take my morning cup of coffee outside. I sat on the front steps, sipping the sugared-down brown liquid as I watched what little traffic there was pass my house. It was rather relaxing, as no one bothered me and my cup of coffee. Some said a quick hello and I nodded back in response, but otherwise I didn't need any interaction with them. That was for the best. I didn't like too many people bothering me at once. It was too much for me.

I finished the over sweetened drink, setting the mug on the step beside me as I wrapped my arms around myself. I could feel the fall weather quietly approaching, the cooler mornings more frequent. Not that it was by much, Italy remained pretty warm throughout the winter, but it got colder nevertheless. With my thin frame, I was affected more so by the cold than others, having little insulation to keep myself warm.

Growing tired of sitting on the cold steps I rose to my feet, taking the empty mug with me. Before I could go into my home, a rather familiar, grumpy voice yelled at me from across the street.

"OLD MAN!"

I blinked, surprised as I turned to look over my shoulder. Only one person called me old… "Romano, this is a pleasant surprise," I said, a sad twitch of a smile appearing in the corner of my lips. I hadn't seen Romano in years. He looked the same- angry eyes, angry scowl, his words angry. Everything about him was rude and angry. Still, it was nice to see the Italian in all his angry glory.

The Italian had stomped his way across the street, his arms folded over his chest as he glared at me. "You look fucking terrible, old man," he snapped, looking me over.

A frown was back on my face at his words. True, I wasn't in the best of health. I lost a little weight and I had been sleeping less, but I was used to it. "Don't use such language here, Romano," I murmured, pressing my lips into a thin line. "Why don't you come inside where it's warm?" I opened the door and stepped inside, setting the mug on a small shelf by the door.

I was stopped from going in further as a hand clamped around my wrist. "Oh no you're not, incense-sniffer," he growled, yanking me back outside. I stumbled at the force, almost falling down the stairs. Romano slammed the door shut and pulled me down the stairs.

"R-Romano! What are you doing?" I nearly yelped it out, Romano's fingers wrapped tightly around the scar circled around my wrist. It was painful, and I couldn't pull free from his iron grip. "Where are you taking me?"

"You'll fucking see, bastard," Romano snapped at me, tugging me down the street, not bothering to slow when I stumbled. He was going to rip my arm off. "Italy better be fucking graceful for this shit," I heard the Italian grumble under his breath. I didn't understand what he was talking about, but I was getting pretty discouraged from his foul language. Whatever was going on, Italy was behind it somehow.

Romano dragged me all through the street, cursing all the way. We eventually got to a large building, Italy standing at the glass doorway. He spotted us and ran forward. "Ve, you brought him, Romano!"

"Yeah, I fucking did," the other Italian snapped, rolling his eyes. I thought he'd let go of me now that Italy was here, but instead he just held on tighter. And Italy grabbed my other arm and the two of them dragged me into the building.

Wait, what?  
Nerves were starting to sink in. I could feel my face paling as the two brothers dragged me into an elevator. "U-um, Italy, w-where are we going?" My voice was squeaky, fear spiking it.

"Doing you a favor!" Italy said happily as the elevator dinged and the door slid open. The two of them dragged me forward down the hallway, heading towards the large double doors at the end. I could hear voices coming from the room behind the doors. Lots of voices.

Oh God, oh God, oh God-!

I began to panic, struggling against the two Italians.

Abort mission! Abort mission!

I began yelling in Latin, the words deaf on my ears as I flailed my feet in fright. I didn't know who was behind the doors, but I knew it was a lot of people. A lot of people that I wouldn't know. I broke free of their grasp, just barely taking a step back before Romano ensnared my arm. The two were half dragging, half carrying me towards the end of the hallway towards their dreadful doors.

Nononononononononononononono nonononononononono-!

The doors were kicked open as the two Italians dragged me in, wheezing and exhausted from struggling.

"Italy! Where wer-" The familiar German voice halted as he spotted me, the blue eyes staring straight into my soul.

"Ve, Germany! I brought Vati!" Italy said cheerfully. "Everyone! This is Vati!"

I froze, my eyes wide as I saw the eyes staring at me. There were way too many people in this room, too many that I didn't know, all staring at me. Italy had led me to Hell, and I wasn't prepared. I felt betrayed, panicked. I wanted to run, but I had wore myself out from struggling previously. I felt something trickle down my cheek, then another, a sob racking my chest. Romano had let go of my arm and I slumped into the floor, crying weakly.

"Dude, Italy! You made him cry!" An unfamiliar, obnoxious voice sounded above me.

"Ve, but I wanted him to meet everyone," Italy whined. "I thought it'd be easier if he met everyone at once instead of one at a time!"

"Idiot, you fucking knew he was scared of crowds," Romano's voice grumbled from somewhere.

"Dude, can I poke him?" The obnoxious voice sounded once more, before a smack and a yelp.

"You dolt, you don't go poking people." This speaker had an English accent, I knew from a few tourists.

More voices sounded above my head, yet I couldn't make out what they were saying. I was too busy crying and frightened to listen to what they were saying.

A hand suddenly stroked my hair, patting my head gently. "It's okay, Mister Vatican," a soft, accent voice of a young girl spoke close to my ear. I slowly lifted my head, blinking tears out of my vision. A pair of green eyes smiled at me, the short-haired girl patting my head. "Are you feeling better, Mister Vatican?" the girl asked, smiling quietly at me. I just blinked tearfully at her, unable to speak. "I am Liechtenstein. It is nice to meet you, Mister Vatican."

She looked up and pointed to a man sitting near the edge of the table. Through my blurry vision, I could see that the two looked rather similar, sporting the same hairstyle and similar clothing. "This is my big brother, Switzerland. Please don't be scared. We are not going to hurt you." She smiled back down at me, calming my nerves just slightly. Perhaps… it wasn't too bad… mostly because I couldn't see most of the people staring at me while I was lying on the floor.

"Da, there's no need to be upset." I blinked up as a large shadow loomed over me, the familiar face of Russia with his childish smile on his lips. The one named Switzerland tensed up as the big Russian approached me, snapping something about staying away from his sister. Russia merely smiled, bent down, and before I could process what had happened, I was up off the floor and in the air in his arms.

"Russia, man, you're going to scare him even more!" The obnoxious voice, as I could see above the table now, belonged to a dirty blond man with glasses and a dark pilot jacket. Next to him was another dirty blond male, looking very similar to the first, but his hair was a shade darker and had a rather large curl coming out of the front of his head. A white bear sat in his lap. There was a feeble smile on his lips. Between him and Germany was an albino who was snickering at something. There was also a man with huge eyebrows and another with long golden locks who had a strange sense of style.

The other side of the table held a woman with long brown hair, a dark-haired man with glasses and somewhat of a curl as well, a long haired Asian man-or woman, I really couldn't tell, who sat next to Japan. Belarus was also present, sitting next to a rather large breasted woman, and beside those two were three other men and a rather short boy, or so I think he was boy. Closer to Switzerland was a rather sleepy-looking man struggling to stay awake, a man I recognized as a Spaniard, and several more men, most of which sported scowls.

I let out a quiet squeak, burying my face into Russia's shoulder. There were WAY too many scary looking people in this room.

"R-Russia, please put Vati down," Italy stammered from beside the tall man. "I don't think he-"

I shook my head vigorously, my arms wrapping around the larger man's neck instinctively. There was no way he was going to put me down on the floor and leave me for the wolves. My trust in Italy had been shattered for the time being, and I was going to do nothing he told me to do. Nope, nope, nope.

The obnoxious man from before laughed, jutting a finger at me and my savior from the floor. "Man that's adorable! He's trying to get Russia to save him!"

"What's wrong with that?" the Russian who held me questioned, turning his violet gaze to the blond. A few more arguments started, but I zoned them out, buying my face into Russia's scarf as if it was the only exit out of this place. I just wanted to go home. I don't mind meeting countries, but meeting them all at once like this was too much, enough to break any interest in getting to know them. Nope, I was done with this. I was going to go home, lock myself in my house, and never come out again. Never.

"Italy, you should take him back home," Germany's voice broke through my thoughts. I snapped my charcoal eyes open, shaking my head again.

"I-I'll take m-myself home," I managed to choke out. "Y-you can put me down…please…"

Russia blinked at me with child-like eyes before slowly setting me back on my feet. I swayed slightly, feeling rather light headed. Now when I was back on my feet, another feeling rose up to mix with the betrayal and fright- anger. I was furious that Italy though this was a good idea. He knew damn well that I didn't like crowds! My inner demons were slowly crawling to the surface, burning inside my chest.

I felt Italy touch my shoulder, his mouth opening to say something, but I snapped around, slapping his hand away from me, my tear-stained eyes glinting with malice. "Don't," I hissed, my voice sounding foreign coming from my mouth. "You dare _touch_ me."

I could see Romano stepping forward out of concern, but I shot a glare at him, shoving him out of my way as I pushed the doors open. I had to leave before my anger got the best of me. Yes, this had been way too much shock for one day, enough to crack the wall that kept my anger from getting out of control. I stomped my way down the hallway, my fists shaking at my sides. My wrists ached, and I felt ill. Tears had started to trickle down my face again as I walked out into the sunlight, despair gripping my heart. I was such a wreck. I didn't know why Italy even bothered trying.

I somehow found my way home in my anguish, locking the door behind me with a quiet click before slumping down against it sobbing weakly into my knees.

I hadn't felt this miserable since I had been a prisoner in the Vatican.


	7. Avian InFLUence

It had been about a week since the incident, and I hadn't felt any better. In truth, I felt worse. I couldn't sleep, and the few times I did manage to doze off I ended up waking up in cold sweat about ten minutes later. Food didn't appeal to me, and the one time I tried forcing some toast down my throat I ended up gagging it back up. I never bothered eating anything else. Naturally the little food I had in my house began to spoil and I ended up tossing it out, making myself feel even more guilty for letting such fine produce go to waste. I was in short supply of coffee and other staples, but I couldn't bring myself to go outside.

I admit I was scared. I didn't want to end up losing my temper or somehow find myself in front of Italy again. I couldn't face him. Not like this.

I gazed at reflection in the mirror of the lone bathroom in the house. I was pale, darkened my shadows under my charcoal eyes. I seemed rather gaunt, thin and frail in the image I saw. My hair was disheveled, my clothes wrinkled. I looked like I had just rolled out of bed. Which, in honest truth, I did. I had been attempting at getting some sleep, but after tossing and turning for a good hour or so, I decided it wasn't worth the trouble. I could also feel a cold coming on, my chest feeling heavy as I coughed every once in awhile. It was the change in weather, I think.

I blew out a tired sigh, fingering at my white shirt. I needed to wash it, but I wasn't in the mood to go downstairs for laundry. There were a few more shirts that needed to be cleaned as well as my only coat, but I just couldn't bring myself to wash them. I didn't feel like doing anything- laundry, shopping, even reading didn't appeal to me.

Giving my sad reflection one last look, I stepped out of the bathroom, sluggishly making my way to the bedroom across the hallway. The bed was unmade, the blankets scattered about the room. A pillow was sticking out from under the mattress- I wonder how that got there. My shoes were askew across the room, lazily tossed there and forgotten. A few socks here and there were lying about. I halfheartedly went about the room, kicking at the socks so they were in somewhat of a pile before settling down in a armchair by the window.

It was dark out this morning, raindrops trickling down the glass. Very few people were out- those who were unfortunate enough to be caught in the rain had umbrellas or ran, hoping to dodge the onslaught of water. It was just as dreary outside as it was in my home, I concluded with a frown, resting back in my chair and gazing up at the ceiling. I could hear a clock ticking from somewhere in my house, but it seemed to echo in the quiet space, tallying up the seconds that passed by.

A rapping noise shook me from my thoughts, a quiet _tap tap _of glass. I blinked, lowering my head from resting on the back of the chair, glancing around my room. Something yellow caught the corner of my eye, drawing my attention to the window. A small bird sat at the windowsill, blinking beady black eyes at me. It's golden feathers were soaked, clinging to the bird's slightly chubby body. It looked just as miserable as I did.

It noticed that it had gotten my attention, tapping its small beak on the glass. "D-do you want in?" I asked hesitantly, my voice slightly hoarse. I rose from my seat, gently pulling the window open in hopes not to startle the bird. The cooler air wafted in, catching in my throat. I choked down a cough, but a second one burned inside my chest. The golden bird didn't seem to care, hopping inside the warmer house and shook its feathers before blinking its eyes at me as I shut the window again to keep the cold from entering my home further.

I blinked back down at the bird thoughtfully. It seemed rather tame, and it wasn't any kind that I've seen around my home. It must've been someone's pet. I saw it shiver, the sight tugging at my heart. "Come here, little bird," I murmured, holding out my hand, a twitch of a smile appearing as it hopped into my palm. The poor thing was freezing cold.

I carried it to the bathroom, finding a hand cloth to wrap around the bird, gently rubbing at its feathers to help it dry off. It didn't seem to mind at all, rather it huddled down in my hands, its eyes half closed at the warmth. With the little help, the bird was soon dry completely and hopped out from under the cloth, immediately fluffing up. A chuckle escaped my lips, turning into a haggard cough. It looked fat, yet adorable with its feathers puffed up as such. It was a fluff ball.

The golden bird fluttered out of my hands on wings that seemed too small for its now larger body, chirping as it flew about the bathroom before settling down on my head. "I'm glad you're feeling better," I said. "I wonder what you were doing out in the rain." It chirped a response.

Shaking my head slightly, I took the cloth back to my room. I glanced around the sad state of it and sighed. "I suppose I'll have to put a load of laundry in…" I wandered about the room, piling the blankets back on the bed and picking up the socks and other articles of clothing laying about the room. Helping the bird seemed to have lightened my mood a little bit.

I reached up, poking the small bird gently. "You need to get off my head for a second." It complied, fluttering off my head and onto the bedpost. I glanced at it for a moment before pulling my shirt off, tossing it into the pile of other laundry that needed to be washed. I heard a chirp come from the bedpost, my eyes turning to look at the golden bird once more. Its beady eyes blinked at me, tilting its head to the side in a curious look. I glanced down at myself, running a finger across a few scars present on my abdomen and chest. There were plenty more across my shoulders and back, all obtained from years of Crusades.

"It's alright, little bird," I murmured, trying to give a smile but only managed a feeble twitch. I turned my back to the bird, opening a chest of drawers. The only thing I had left to wear was the scarlet turtleneck I had worn at Russia's place. Italy had given it to me, saying he didn't wear it anymore. Just thinking of Italy made my heart sank, but I couldn't do anything about it.

I tugged the turtleneck over my head, rolling down the collar before pulling out the chain with the two keys out from under it, clicking to a rest on my chest. The red made my hands appear less pale than they really were, adding an appearance of color to my complexion. I felt warmth against my neck, the small bird snuggling in the folds of my rolled turtleneck. "Whoever owns you must be lucky," I murmured, stroking the bird's head with a finger.

I bent down, picking up the pile of laundry off the floor and slowly made my way down the stairs. The washer and drier were stuck in a small closet in the hallway leading to my kitchen. I opened the washer and peered at the small mound of clothing already present inside. I really had neglected to take care of myself for the past few days. I sighed, pushing the pile in my arms into the machine, throwing some soap in before shutting the door. I made sure the bird was still in the folds of my turtleneck before starting the washer. I didn't want to fish out the poor bird out of the soapy mess of clothes.

I had to stop for a moment on the stairway going back up, a coughing fit racking my thin frame. I was in for a cold. Lovely. I stroked the golden bird's soft feathers as it chirped, fluffing up and moving closer to my cheek. I was beginning to wish I could keep the bird, but I knew someone probably owned it and was out looking for it, or will be looking for it once they found out it was missing. I shook the thought out of my head for the time being and continued my way up the stairs back to my room.

After making the bed I had to sit down, exhausted from the little work I had done. Between the illness, the lack of sleep and starving myself for the past few days, I was wore out. But since I was in a better mood than I had been for the last couple of days, I wanted to get things done before I fell back into my depressed stupor.

The afternoon brought in a few rays of sun as the rain faltered and cleared. I decided to get my shopping done before it got any colder. I stifled back a few coughs as I walked through the damp streets, the fluff ball of a bird still curled up in my turtleneck, seeming rather content with the little warmth that my body provided.

Luckily the streets were empty, and so was the store. I went through the aisles, picking what I needed- Coffee, milk, butter, some fruits and vegetables. I was at the checkout line, the nice lady ringing up my purchases when I heard loud voices barging through the doorway.

"Damn it, West, I can't find him anywhere!"

I froze, staring at the albino speaker. That was… one of the guys I saw at the meeting the two Italian brothers dragged me to… My eyes flickered over to the ever tall Germany, grumbling.

"If you left it at home, you wouldn't be in this predicament."

"Hey lady!" the albino shouted, stomping over towards the register that I was at. I cringed back as his ruby red eyes glared at the lady, who seemed just as startled. "You've seen a fluffy yellow bird, like, this big?" he demanded, holding his hands up to estimate the size. The woman shook her head, staring at the crazy albino.

"Damn it! No one's seen Gilbird! Is the awesome me not awesome enough?!" His sinister red eyes turned to me next. "Have you-!"

He stopped, staring at me, then blinked, and stared again. "Oi… you're that crazy Italian…"

"His name is Vatican, and he isn't crazy." Germany had appeared behind the albino, causing me to step back in fright. I shakily nodded my head in agreement. I was a tad bit surprised that the scary German would stand up for me, but I was more concerned about the strange albino.

Germany sighed, resting a hand on the shorter albino man's shoulder. "This is my brother, Prussia. We're looking for his pet bird."

"His name is Gilbird!" the albino stated. "And he's just as awesome as I am!"

"I-I see…" I stammered. "Um…well, I did find a bird that fits the description…" I had to take a step back as the Prussian shoved his face close to mine, his eyes wide. "I-I have it with me…"

Slowly I lifted my hand to my neck, gently lifting the sleeping golden bird from the scarlet folds. Prussia's eyes were wide, gleaming with happiness. I thought he'd burst out and yell, but he seemed to choke it down and instead thrusted his hands outward to me, allowing me to place the fluff ball of a bird in his hand. He brought the bird up to his face, rubbing the soft feathers against his cheek before placing the bird on his silvery-white hair. The bird seemed in place on his head, almost like it belonged there.

"Kesesese!" I blinked at the strange sound that came out of the albino's mouth. I guess it was some sort of laugh. He seemed too preoccupied in announcing how awesome he was in finding the bird. Germany rubbed his temples before stepping towards me.

"Thanks for finding him," he muttered. "He spent all day looking for that fluff ball."

I opened my mouth to reply, but a ragged cough came out instead. I covered my mouth, bending over slightly as I continued to cough, a wretched, congested sound from deep within my chest. I felt a hand pat my back, the coughing fit ceasing enough for me to take a wheezing breath. "I-I'm alright," I muttered, straightening up. "Just a cold."

I turned away from Germany to pay for my groceries, picking up the bag. It felt heavy in my arms, the weight bearing me down. "I suppose… Italy told you about me…?" I asked softly, looking into the contents of the bag, not wanting to make eye contact with the tall blond.

"Only a little bit," he murmured. I could hear him shift uncomfortably behind me. A soft sigh escaped my lips.

"Tell Italy I'm sorry," I muttered before escaping the store, not wanting to get into depth in that conversation. I supposed Italy had the right to tell his friends about my past, especially what had happened at the meeting. Even though I lost some trust in the klutzy Italian, I knew he wouldn't tell them everything. He may tell everyone else about information about others, but when it came to me, I could trust that his lips were sealed on some information.

As I went home, I had to stop once more halfway there, having another coughing fit. This was going to be a terrible cold. I just hoped it didn't long. Sighing heavily, I entered my home once more, alone.

Perhaps after I got over my cold, I would gather what little courage I had to see Italy and settle this out like civilized people. But for now, I had to get over this silly illness.


	8. Chicken Noodle Soup: The Italian Way

Morning came all too soon for me, the bright sun trickling through the glass and melting onto my bed. The very sight of it made my head pound.

Groaning I sat up, blinking my eyes groggily. I felt terrible- my head ached, my nose was stuffed up, my chest was congested and my throat itched with a cough. The light streaming from the window made my eyes water. The only good night sleep I had in years, and I wake up feeling like someone stuffed my chest with garbage and ran me over a couple of times.

It was going to be a very long day.

Snorting up some snot that was about to dribble from my nose, I slowly untangled myself from the streets and rose to my feet. I wobbled slightly- actually a lot- so much that I gripped to the bedpost for balance. Even my legs were tired and sore, not wanting to work at all. Although I really wanted to crawl back into the warmth of my bed, I needed to eat. I hadn't touched a crumb in days, and that would only make my illness worse. Some toast and coffee sounded good.

I slowly made my way towards the hallway, clinging onto objects for support before I got to the wall. I kept my hands pressed up against the wall as I slid my feet across the floor, heading towards the stairs. Gingerly I made my descent, clutching the railing as if it was the only thing between myself and a straight drop off into an abyss. Slowly, but surely, I reached the landing with a sigh of relief.

I had to take a break after tackling the staircase part, huffing out short wheezes. I sounded horrible. I changed the order in my head from coffee to tea. Tea would be much better for me and my sickly body than coffee. Like I needed the caffeine for my aching body. I just hope I had some teabags left in the pantry.

I clawed my way to the kitchen, coughing along the way. It felt like I was going to hack up a lung. I opened the door to the pantry and pulled out a small cardboard box. Yes, I had some teabags left. I only had enough strength to turn on the kettle and grab a mug before I had to sit down, my legs almost giving out from under me. I didn't feel like having toast anymore. Just tea. Then when I was rested up enough I would make the venture back up the stairs to my comfy bed. If I could make it.

I wiped my nose on the back of my hand, sniffing as I watched the kettle heat up. I felt myself nodding off, my head drooping to my chest. I really just wanted to sleep… I shook my head, fluttering my eyes as I lifted my head, watching the kettle again. No, I had to stay awake. Yet I couldn't, my head slowly drifting downward as my eyes threatened to close on me.

A sharp knocking snapped me out of my doze, lifting my head up to blink towards the front door. "The door's unlocked," I called, before falling into another coughing fit. My eyes watered as I lowered my head almost into my knees as I bent over coughing.

"Ve! You sound terrible!"

"I-Italy?" I croaked out, lifting my head. My vision was blurry, but I could see the bouncing curl of the Italian. "W-what are you-?" Another coughing fit ended my sentence, doubling over once more. I felt the Italian pat my back lightly.

"Germany told me you were ill, but I didn't know it was this bad!" Italy said. He reached down, grabbing my arm and pulled me from my seat after my coughing fit had ended. There was a look of determination on his face, mixed with concern. "You're going to bed! I'll take care of everything!"

"Y-you don't have to do that, Italy," I whispered hoarsely, although I didn't struggle as he led me up the stairs, leading most of my weight against him for support. I could barely keep my eyes open, my vision watered down. I could see colors and shapes, but they were fuzzy and distorted. I found myself being placed down on the bed, covered up by the warm blankets. A hand rested on my forehead.

"Ve…you feel pretty warm," he said. I could almost hear the frown in his voice, even though I could barely see his face in my blurred sight.

"I'm fine," I mumbled, snuggling down in the blankets. I was already drifting off, my aching body demanding sleep. "It's just a cold…"

The next few days proved that it wasn't 'just a cold'. I was feverish, my body so weak I was unable to sit up. I was barely conscious the few times I was awake. I could hear voices, but the words became gibberish to my ears. I could barely see anything, everything just colored blobs and the light seemed to scorch my eyes. I slept through most of it, a dark, dreamless rest, thank God. I would most likely been worse off if I had the nightmares that typically accompany me.

I stirred from my rest a couple of days later, feeling much better. The headache was gone, my eyes were no longer sensitive to the light, and my body was stronger. Although my chest still felt heavy, I was overall, turning for recovery.

I glanced about my room, finding no one present, but I could hear voices downstairs. Slowly I rose from the bed and headed to the door, a blanket wrapped around my shoulders for warmth. I could hear Italy's voice, as well as a familiar German. Two more voices were present, one of a woman, the other of a rather sophisticated male. Two people I didn't know.

If it weren't for my grumbling stomach protesting for food, I would've turned around and crawled back into bed until the two strangers left.

My footsteps were quiet on the stairs as I made my way down to the kitchen. Present there were the Italian and German, but also a strong-looking brunette woman and a thin, rather snooty appearing man with glasses. All four of them turned their heads at my appearance. I gave them a sheepish twitch of a smile. "Hello…"

"Vati!" The wind was knocked out of me as the Italian snapped his arms around me in an embrace.

"I-it's nice to see you too, Italy," I wheezed out, holding the blanket with one hand as the other patted the Italian on the head.

"You had me worried!" he said, blinking up at me tearfully. "You were sick for _days_!"

"He was pretty worried," Germany said from the table. Italy bobbed his head, dragging me to a chair to join the three there.

"Germany helped me take care of you!" he said cheerfully. "And Austria and Hungary helped!"

The dark haired man crossed his arms, turning his gaze to a wall. The woman beamed. "We were all pretty worried about you. I'm Hungary. This is Austria." She nudged the man beside her with an elbow, only getting a grumble from him. Apparently he wasn't too talkative.

"I made pasta!" Italy chimed in, setting a plate down in front of me.

"O-oh…" I blinked down at the pasta. Without realizing it I was shoving the strands of noodle into my mouth at breakneck speed, not really chewing as I swallowed mouthfuls at a time.

"Ve, you're going to choke if you eat that fast," Italy said, although there was a wide smile on his face. The others just stared at me.

"_Esurivi. Non comederimin diebus_," I muttered in between mouthfuls of pasta. Italy tilted his head at my Latin words, though he just shrugged it off. Soon my plate was empty, leaving me to stare at it sadly. I was still sort of hungry, but I knew if I ate too much in one sitting would be detrimental to my already poor health. "Grazie," I murmured.

Suddenly I found myself in a conversation with Italy in Italian. He went on and on about how he took care of me and the people he had called to help him. Initially he had only asked Germany to help, but Germany had work to do on some days and called others about the problem. A person named America and England stopped by one day, one in the morning, the other in the afternoon. Apparently America stuck some sort of food on my head hoping that it would make me better and England brought some scones that I had eaten in my sleep. According to Italy, it made my fever worse.

Italy had called Spain to help him another morning, and Japan had come shortly after the Spaniard left. Prussia had come with Gilbird, as well as a man named France, whom Italy said he did not let upstairs in my room, saying something about him being a creep. Gilbird had spent the visit sitting on my forehead. The majority of the help came from Germany and Hungary, who had stayed with Italy for the last couple of days. Austria apparently showed up only yesterday.

I was a bit taken aback at how many people came to help Italy. Even though I didn't know most of who showed, and they were called in to help, but I still, I couldn't help but feel a little happy. I never had this many people in my home in one week before in my entire life. I felt a twinge of guilt after the thought. All those visitors, and I wasn't able to see most of them. I could've whipped up some delicious dessert or candy for them to take with them. Why did I have to be sick?

Italy had been distracted by Germany, questioning him on what he was saying to me. The Italian hadn't realized he had been speaking in a completely different language the entire time, and looked a bit embarrassed. I slowly rose up from the chair, stifling a yawn. I was still recovering, and so I needed more sleep.

"Thank you for helping Italy take care of me," I murmured, looking over at the occupants of the room. "But please, you should go home and rest… I am fine on my own now…" I bowed my head for a second before turning to leave the room, quietly heading back up the stairs and to my bedroom.  
"Wait! Vati!"

I turned, watching Italy run up the stairs to me. He panted for a moment before holding something out to me. It was a rectangular black thing. I reached out, shakily taking it. "What is it…?"

"It's a phone!" Italy said cheerfully. "You didn't have one so I bought one for you so you can stay in contact with people when you got better!" He took it from me, turning it on and showed me the bright screen. "See? A lot of people put their numbers in for you!" he claimed, scrolling down a list. I saw Italy's name, as well as Germany's, Romano's, Spain's, Prussia's, and Hungary's. England's was present as well, under the title 'Scary Englishman!'. I would have to figure out how to change that later.

"Um… wow… Italy, you didn't have to do this…"I said slowly, taking the phone and staring at it as if it was some precious treasure. I looked at Italy's beaming face, staring at him for a moment before I did something I didn't think I would do ever again since the meeting incident.

I hugged him.

"Grazie," I murmured in his ear, patting him on the back before letting go. "I should go to bed now… Got to recover." I held up the phone. "Can you show me how to use this when I wake up?  
The Italian grinned and bobbed his head. "Of course Vati! Then we should go to my place for dinner! I will cook you lots of pasta!"

A twitch of a smile appeared in the corner of my lips as I sighed softly. "That sounds good, Italy... Very good."

* * *

Translation:

Latin: Esurivi. Non comederimin diebus- I was hungry. I haven't eaten in days.


	9. Saving Drunken England

Sorry for not posting a new chapter for awhile! I've been lazy. I'll do my best to keep on adding chapters, but it'll be rather sporadic as I dodge between weekends and school.

* * *

I blew out a quiet sigh as I closed the book that I had been reading, setting it down in my lap. It had been two weeks, but I was officially over my illness. The nagging cough had lasted a lot longer than I had thought, but I was glad that it was finally out of my system. Italy had been kind enough to get me some medicine to help me recover, but in truth, I don't think it worked very well. Nevertheless, I had taken it anyway. I wasn't one to waste one's good intentions.

I reached into the pocket of my coat, pulling out the phone that Italy had given me to check the time. He had showed me the basics of how to use it, but I was a bit slow in learning. I knew how to turn it on and off, and how to call people. That was the easy part. The hard part was this thing called 'texting'. Italy showed me how, but it was pretty confusing. It was like writing a letter to someone, only had fewer words and was sent instantly. Thankfully, I had someone to help me walk through the steps in the ways of texting.

Prussia practically texted me every day, often going on rambling about how his brother kept nagging him and how awesome his day was. We would spend an hour or so replying back to each other, usually in the late hours of night to the early morning. I had the feeling that Prussia was one of those 'Stay Up Late, Wake Up Late' sort of fellows, as he never reply to me any earlier than noon and no later than four in the morning. I didn't mind, as I usually spend my night up and about my home.

Sometimes he'd call instead of texting me, usually so he can let Gilbird chirp at me or he had lost something and needed his hands free. It was slightly amusing listening to him scramble around his room trying to find something. He would end up in such a mess that I had to go through a list of places he could search. I never seen his room, but it seemed that he just needed someone to guide him through the search process instead of making more of a mess.

I glanced down at the time on my phone, frowning at the time. It was one thirty in the morning. Usually by now Prussia would've sent me something. He was probably busy- busy as in drinking, as I found out through our conversations. I had no problem with people drinking alcohol, but some people just overdo it. I try to avoid drinking as much as possible myself. It's not like I hated it, more on the lines that there was a rather dark memory attached to drinking that I never want to relive ever again.

The phone in my hand suddenly vibrated, jolting me from my thoughts. Someone was calling me. Glancing at the screen, a twitch of a smile appeared in the corner of my lips. I answered it, bringing the phone to my ear. "Hello Prussia."

" 'alo!" There was a lot of giggling and slurred conversations in the background. I let out a heavy sigh.

"Prussia, are you drinking again?"

"Of course! Sp'n and Fran' and me tho' it'd fun if we went ou'! Spaint brough' Romano and Fran' brough' Engle me brough' It'ly!" There was more giggling, the sound of something slumping closer to the phone grated my ears.

"Hey. Hey Prus… you callin' Vati?" It was Italy, and from the sound of the pauses and slurs, he was wasted. Some curses were flying in the background, some Spanish following after. The phone was pulled away, Prussia saying something to Italy but I couldn't understand what it was.

I rubbed my temples with two fingers, shaking my head slightly. They all sounded like they had one too many drinks. Although countries had high tolerance of alcohol- or at least some did- they could still get rather inebriated if they had way too much. And from the way they were acting, it was best to conclude that they bought out an entire bar.

"Prussia, where are you?" I asked, doing my best not to sound irritated or angry.

"'n It'ly place!" He let out a round of his unusual laughter, and proceeded to drop the phone with the clunk on the floor. I pulled the phone away from my ear, wincing at the sharp sound. A curse followed and the phone was retrieved from the floor. "a'ywa', I wass to call you for…" There was a pause, before Prussia spoke up again. "Ur, It'ly, wht' was I sup'se to call for?"

There was a yelp as the phone was pulled away from Prussia, followed by another curse. Another laugh sounded, this time from the new possessor of the phone, one that I recognized from a few phone calls ago with the Prussian.

"Hey France," I murmured, frowning at the constant laughter, until a shower of French came through the phone. I could catch a little of what he was saying, doing my best to piece together the conversation between the speed and the slurring.

"So…you guys… lost England…?" I asked hesitantly, unsure of if that was the right conclusion. Apparently it was, as the phone was stolen away from a laughing France and to another person.

"Si, Inglaterra is missing." This accent was Spanish, and I could only presume it was Spain. He seemed to be the least inebriated out of the group, although still pretty drunk. "He ran out in a funny costume and hasn't been seen since."

I leaned back in my chair, shaking my head. "I should go look for him," I murmured, resting my head in a hand as I turned my eyes to the window, gazing at the starry sky. "You guys should get some sleep. It's late and you'll wake up the neighbors."

Before the others could spew anymore drunkenness to me, I ended the call. I didn't need to hear why England had run off so unexpectedly, and wearing some costume too. It was most likely some drunken prank or dare, and someone got mad and left. I was quietly glad that the others didn't go looking for him. I didn't need six lost people wandering around the city, wasted out of their minds and staggering around the streets.

Now that I thought about it, I was surprised the trio had even gotten Romano to drink with them. He was always so sour. Italy, I knew, was most likely pressured into joining the others, but Romano remained a mystery. Perhaps one of the three he'd spoken to was the Italian's friend. I shook my head at the thought. Someone had to be very patient and understanding to ever get use to Romano's harsh actions and language, let alone be his friend. But, miracles had happened before, and I had to be glad that at least Romano had a friend, if he even has one.

Tucking the phone in my pocket, I got up from the chair, stretching my arms, hearing my back cracking. Ah, that's better. I glanced around the room, shrugging my shoulders as I headed towards the stairs. I did say I would go look for England, yet I didn't know where to look first. Actually, what did England even look like? I knew he came to visit one day when I was sick, but I was never awake during his stay. I couldn't leave a drunk country out in the streets, though, so I made my way to the door, heading out.

It was cold out; the bright light off the full moon brought no warmth with it. I tugged my jacket closer to myself, shivering slightly as I walked through the streets, gazing around for a staggering figure wearing some sort of costume.

In truth, I never actually found England. He found me. He'd come staggering out of an alley and slammed right into me, causing both of us to fall to the concrete. I was dazed at the impact, blinking as my eyes fell on the man laying on top of me, tears falling from his bloodshot eyes that rested under giant eyebrows. He was wearing something that wasn't appropriate for the weather at all, a toga-like outfit and wings on his back. He looked a mess, his face red and dusty, his words slurred and not even making any sense. The only reason why I knew this was England was because of those eyebrows- I recognized them from the one time I went to the meeting.

I patted him gently on the head before pushing myself into a sitting position. He seemed to cling to me, blubbering something. I caught a few names- America and France- but otherwise his drunken rants made no sense. "I-I see," I said slowly, doing my best not to just hug him. He looked so miserable. I didn't even know why he was wearing such a strange costume either. I didn't know Italy had something like that in his house. He preferred cats and cute things, not angels to dress up as. "Can you stand up?" The pavement was getting too cold to sit on.

The drunken man sniffled and staggered up, allowing me to get back onto my feet. He almost fell forward as soon as I got up, his arms wrapping around me as he tried to catch himself. We almost toppled back down to the pavement again, but I was able to keep myself upright. I grabbed one of his arms, wrapping it over my shoulders as I put my other arm around him, securing him enough to keep the drunken nation from falling face first into the ground. "Come on, I'll take you home…"

A grumbling slur was all that came out of England's lips, but he didn't seem to care as I led him down the street, keeping him up as he staggered and tripped over his own feet. He continued to mumble about all sorts of weird things as I led him towards my house. By the time we got there he was falling asleep on me, his head bobbing as his eyes fluttered, as if he was trying to keep awake but failing miserably.

"We're almost there," I murmured quietly, leading him into the house. The stairs proved a challenge for the sleepy drunk. I practically had to drag him up, his feet not wanting to move anymore. I managed to get him to my bedroom before he fell asleep on me completely, flopping down onto my bed snoring.

I blew out a sigh, running my fingers through my hair as I gazed down at the sleeping man. England was, apparently, not a very stable drunk.

I pulled a few blankets over him, making sure he was covered enough to keep warm. I hope he didn't get sick on me. Who knew how long he had been wandering out there, drunker than a skunk and wearing such a thin and revealing costume, before Prussia ever decided to call me.

Shaking my head, I reached for my phone as I walked out of the bedroom, leaving the Englishman to sleep in peace. I decided it was best to leave a text for Prussia instead of calling him. I didn't know if he was still awake and he wouldn't remember in the morning either.

I sat down in my library, sending the text to Prussia before checking the time. Two forty-five. I spent almost an hour dealing with this drunken mess. I would have to talk to the Prussian and the others about their drinking habits after this. England could've been hurt, and I didn't want to see that happening anytime soon. Not to England, not to anyone.

The sun had risen above the horizon before I left the comforts of my library to check up on my unexpected guest. He was still snoring soundly, spread out over my bed. I shook my head at the sight before turning to my wardrobe, pulling out a set of clothing for him. He was a little taller than I was, but he _certainly_ wasn't leaving my home wearing what he had on now. He wasn't wearing any shoes, though, and I didn't have any spares apart from what I had hidden up in the corners of my attic. I sighed, setting the folded clothing down on a nearby chair by the bed. I couldn't let him go barefoot…

I found myself leaving the bedroom, opening a doorway that I tried to avoid as much as possible, gazing up at the dusty stairwell to the darkness above. I didn't like going to the attic. I hid many things from my past up there, and I didn't like the memories attached to them. Yet, England had to wear _something_.

The stairs creaked quietly under my weight as I approached the top of the stair, my charcoal gray eyes adjusting to the dark as I peered around. It was pretty dusty up there- I should clean it out sometime. As gingerly as I could, I made my way around a few boxes and crates, heading towards a chest that I kept in the back. I knew there would be some footwear in there, even if it was a bit old.

I knelt down beside the chest, reaching up to lift the chain with the two sets of keys from around my neck. My hands were shaking as I took the silver key, sliding it into the keyhole and unlocking the chest. I closed my eyes, not wanting to see the contents as I lifted the lid just enough for my hand to slip in and feel around. I located the familiar leather, tugging the pair of boots from the chest and quickly shutting it and locking it back up.

Keys and boots in hand, I escaped the attic, shutting the door behind me. I let out a breath that I didn't know I was holding in, my shoulders relaxing as I looked down at the boots in my hand. They were pretty old, hand crafted and plain. A few scratches and scuffs were visible, but in all, the boots were still in pretty good shape for their age.

Slipping the keys around my neck once more, I carried the boots into my room, setting them down beside the chair of clothes. I watched England sleep for a moment before leaving the room once more. I had to cook him some breakfast when he woke up.

I had made some coffee and was making some toast for myself when I heard the stairs creak as someone walked down them. I glanced over as England inched into the kitchen, a hand to his head. He looked worse than the day before, dark shadows under his eyes and most likely had a pounding headache.

"W-where the hell am I?" he asked groggily, blinking a pair of tired green eyes at me.

"Well, good morning to you too," I murmured, nodding my head quietly at him. "You're in my home, in Vatican City." I noticed he was wearing the clothes I left out for him, the pants a bit too short in the leg, but at least the red turtleneck fit him much more comfortably than it did on me. The leather boots were also on his feet, but they didn't fit the rest of the outfit at all. Oh well, it was better than his previous attire.

England blinked at me before setting down in a chair, mumbling a thanks as I set out a cup of coffee for him. I would've made him tea, but I didn't have any left, but he didn't seem to mind as he sipped from the mug, both his hands wrapped around it. I gave him the toast that I had made for myself as well, seeing that he probably needed it more than I did before sitting down at the small table.

"You were pretty drunk last night," I murmured quietly, gazing down at the table.

"So was everyone else," he grumbled into his cup.

I nodded quietly, frowning slightly. He didn't seem to be any mood to talk. "You can stay as long as you like," I said softly as I got up from the table. "I'm going to take a walk. I'll be back shortly." I didn't want to bother the man more than I had to, so I left him in peace as I went out into the streets for a walk in the morning sun.

When I returned half an hour later, the Englishman was gone.


	10. Back Story (Author's Note)

A Guest posted this: **My only complaint so far is that there are some nations that would probably know Vatican aside from the Italies. Switzerland, for one... The Swiss guard that protects the Pope. Prussia, the Teutonic Order would not have existed at all without papal approval. France, Austria, if he was a crusader, Egypt and Turkey as well might remember him.**

You bring up a good point, which I have no qualms in answering. Since the full story is way too long, there's a Short Summary, and a Super Short Summary. The Short Summary is a bit of a rant, so be careful when reading. It explains way more than it should, but in all honest truth, I don't think I'll ever get to the full back story, so I might as well explain the major parts first.

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Short Summary:

**WARNING- CONTAINS HISTORY**.

In the past, Vatican, as Papal States himself, had little contact with other countries and political affairs. The Pope handled things on his own accord, whereas Papal was typically in battle or keeping himself occupied in things that kept him from dealing with kingdoms and countries. He was just as sociable as he is now, although he was a bit more temperamental then.

During the Crusades, Papal did meet with several countries, including France, Britain, and Germany/HRE during the Third Crusade (the leaders were, King Philip II, Richard the Lion-Hearted, and Frederick Barbarossa, respectively). In battle, however, Papal disliked being treated as superior to the other combatants, and kept his personified country self from being noted. It wasn't uncommon for him to disguise himself as a common foot soldier just so he could get some action without having to worry about direction troops.

A few nations did recognize him over time, mainly being, a young Ottoman Empire and Egypt. Teutonic Order also grew suspicious of him. Yet Papal seemed to dodge the bullet of complete recognition, for all of them only knew what he looked like with a helmet on his head and sword in hand, his clothes splattered in dust and blood. None of them knew what he looked like outside of the battlefield.

Papal soon began to fall apart, the constant fighting taking both political and economical strain and the death of Byzantine Empire ripping a hole in his heart. Then the Black Death pandemic smacked down shortly after the Ninth and last official Crusade. Still suffering from the emotional and physical strain from the Crusades, the Black Death hit Papal hard. What made it worse was that also during this time; the Papacy had left Rome entirely and begun to reside in France for about a 60 year period.

Papal was at the breaking point.

In hopes to retain what little sanity he had left, Papal left the safety of his home and went to France to try to persuade the Pope to return to Rome. It was there when he came face to face with France, who was avid in keeping the Papacy there. To his luck or his misfortune, France never realized who Papal really was; only thinking it was just another person trying to get the Pope out of his country. This lack of knowledge made discussions harder and harder as time progressed, and with Papal already at his wits end, turned to the aid of others who also vied for the Pope to return to Rome.

Eventually the Pope did return to Rome, but then he died shortly afterward. The new Pope caused strain on the French clergy that remained in France and soon France and these men voted on a different Pope, resorting in two Popes at the same time.

Papal lost it. He was infuriated that someone would ever do such a thing as to vote for two Popes at once. The corruption in the Church was only fueling the fire, and as the darkness grew, so did his anger. Many occasions he had stormed in on the Pope to rage at him, and many times he had attacked the guards that protected the Pope, trying to push the crazed man out. Constant warfare from other countries caused him to lose land bit by bit, and the growth of the Protestant Reformation only fed the flames.

Throughout the exchange between Popes, the corruption within the Church only grew worse. Constant warfare between other countries and kingdoms soon chewed at the land that Papal owned, his domain quickly shrinking. In his despair and anger, he continued to verbally attack the Popes, all whom seem to simply ignore him. It was aggravating that no one was listening to him, and he had no one to turn to. Soon he had lost all of his land, but kept his title for several years, forced into the small enclave in Rome. Italy came to the area once, wanting to talk to the Pope about completely joining lands under one name. Papal became violent at the word that even Italy was trying to take the last thing he had left- his identity. In his rage he almost stabbed Italy with a weapon he'd gotten from a struggle with a guard a few seconds earlier, but he couldn't bring himself to do it, and eventually collapsed in a weeping heap in a corner.

A few days after Italy left, an army swept in and demolished the Papal States entirely. A little later, Italy became one country.

The 50 year or so time stretching between the riddance of Papal States and Vatican was known as the Prisoner in the Vatican, where the Pope never went outside in fear of being shot. Very few Church members residing in the enclave left, as nationalists were literally camping out at the exit.

During this time, a wrecked and tired Papal was kept locked up in a small room in the Vatican, as they feared he was far from being helped. He spent his days mulling over his past, asking God why He let him fall so far. His guilt and sadness dampened whatever fighting spirit was left in him, and he remained mostly in one spot, staring at the floor, far from reality. He spoke nothing, the turmoil remaining in his head. Several times he was forced fed, as he refused to eat. Most of the inhabitants didn't even know who he was, all apart from the Pope and a few close advisors of his, so he was, for the most part, ignored.

He wondered why he wasn't dead yet. His lands had been lost, his name was no more. Everything close to him had died or was taken from him. He didn't understand, and for fifty years he remained locked up, lamenting over this fact.

Yet, one day, he lifted his head up when someone came through the door with his food, opened his mouth, and asked to see Italy.

He himself didn't even know why he did it. It seemed to him that, if he wasn't dead yet, something must be keeping him from dying. His only chance to either keep himself alive or die off completely, was to ask Italy for something. He wasn't sure what.

Italy did come, yet he was much taller and older than he knew of him before. In truth, Italy didn't recognize the previously Papal either, the neglect to his body making him almost like a completely different person. Yet, both of them were nervous of each other, and the conversation began off rocky. It took a little bit, but Papal broke down after a bit, only wanting forgiveness from the Italian.

Not only did he get forgiveness, Italy offered to give him his house back, allowing him to keep the enclave that his house and the Vatican rested in. Italy himself felt guilty that the man had everything taken from him, and had secretly asked for his house to remain intact.

Eventually the two striked up an agreement, forming and signing the Lateran Treaty, which gave Papal his home and the enclave to his care. However, Italy's only concern, as was his own, was his name. He needed to change it.

With a little advice, he eventually settled on Vatican City, and soon he had left the small room he had known for over fifty years and begun to live in his old house once more.

Super Short Summary:

Papal was a sexy man who spent more time killing Turks than dealing with countries. He may/may not had a thing for Byzantine, but then she died so he began to break down. Crusades and Black Death and Protestant Reformation happened, and so did Church corruption, and he started to trip. Everything was taken from him and his country was stripped from him due to Italian nationalists, and so his tripping the fuck out self was locked up in a room for over fifty years.

Fifty years is a long time being locked up.

Fifty years to grow to skin and bones and in dire need of a haircut.

Fifty years for people to forget a person they barely knew.

So then he became Vatican, got a hair cut, and laid off the muscle growth and now he's a skinny pale white boy with short hair and looks nothing like he did before.

And, to his defense, no one else looks the same as they did back in the 13th century.

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Huzzah. Hope that clears some stuff up. A new chapter will come out shortly, as well as a special for Monday. Why? Well, you'll see!

ALSO! Reviews are cool guys. I do read them. I like to know what people think of the story and the questions they present. Perhaps there should be a Q&A session or a 'send to letter' thing for poor Vatican so he doesn't get swamped with crap. What'd you guys think?


	11. (20) New Messages

Scary Englishman

-Hey

-Do you want your damn clothes back?

I stared at my phone, my lips pressing into a thin line. I was in the middle of my morning walk when the vibrating phone paused my progress. I hadn't been expecting anyone to talk to me this early in the morning, not with everyone seeming to be late sleepers. It had been several days since I last seen England, sulking in my kitchen after a night of foolish choices. In truth, I hadn't expected to hear from him again, let alone get the clothes I let him borrow back from him. But here I was, staring at my phone, being asked by England if I wanted my clothes back.

Scary Englishman

-Hey

-Do you want your damn clothes back?

It would be an inconvenience for you to return them. I have no qualms in you keeping them. –

There, that should do it. My texting skills had improved much to the practice with Prussia and with a friend of his; a country named Canada. The Prussian had been visiting Canada the day after his party with Italy and the others and wanted to introduce the quiet Canadian to me, and me to him. I liked talking to Canada. He wasn't as wound up and 'awesome' as Prussia was, nor did he seem intimidating or sullen as like other countries. He seemed rather soft spoken, a trait that often left him go unnoticed, as he explained to me. Yet, he was rather intelligent and friendly, almost a polar opposite to Prussia's rash and outspoken personality.

I wouldn't mind meeting up with him in person.

I settled down on a bench for a break, the cold metal seeping through my clothing. I shivered slightly, pulling my jacket closer to myself to retain what little heat I gave off. The phone in my hand buzzed again, causing me to ignore my plight for a second to glance over the message.

Scary Englishman

-Hey

-Do you want your damn clothes back?

It would be an inconvenience for you to return them. I have no qualms in you keeping them. –

-Whatever.

Well, I supposed that could've have gone better, but I was glad England wasn't arguing it with me. He seemed like a person who would yell and grumble until he got his way, or if his way didn't get implemented he would complain about whatever method that had been used. He didn't seem to be like a very cheerful person. However, the memory of the tears dripping down his dirty face in his drunken stupor tugged at my heartstrings. There was a friendly side to him, I knew, but he didn't put much effort into letting it show.

And there was little that I could do to help him.

I leaned back against the bench, my eyes gazing up at the sky. There were only a few fluffy clouds lurking in the sky above, the sun slowly rising up from behind the buildings. Yet, the warm sun had yet to warm things up, and so everything was still a bit chilly. I couldn't wait until the warmer season started, though winter never lasted long in Italy. Soon it'll be hot and the tourists will return and everything will be back to normal like it should be.

The vibrating phone in my hand stirred me from my thoughts, a sigh escaping my lips as I lifted the phone up to read the message. I was a bit surprised that it wasn't the Englishman that had sent this message, but rather it was a number I didn't recognize or have in my contacts.

(111)232231…

-When's your birthday?

I stared at the screen for a long time, not really comprehending what was written there. Why would someone ask for my birthday? It was just a normal day for me, mostly spent alone. No one had asked about my birthday in years. The only reason why I remembered my birthday was for papers and forms. I frowned, my brows furrowing as I thought. Now that I think about it, my birthday was… tomorrow. I flicked out of the message to look at the time and date. Yes, tomorrow would be my birthday. Time sure flew by. It wouldn't hurt to reply back, I suppose.

(111)232231…

-When's your birthday?

February 11, why? –

I waited for a reply, but after around ten minutes without a word I sighed, tucking the device away and rose from my seat. I decided to wander around the streets for a few more blocks before I decided to head back for home. As I walked, I thought about what I would do once I got back. I had enough ingredients to make some toffee. The candy would get sort of stiff in the colder weather, but at least it wouldn't get sticky from the heat. I nodded at the thought as I entered my home, shutting the cold air out behind the door.

Leaving my jacket on, I ventured into the kitchen, taking out the ingredients and tools I needed to make the candy. I was measuring out some sugar when my phone buzzed again. Setting down the measuring cup I pulled out my phone, my eyes narrowing slightly. Okay, this was getting sort of weird. Usually I would have messages come to me from the same person, but today it seemed that everyone wanted to talk to me. Right now I had the third person text me- Hungary. And she had a strange question.

Hungary

-What would you put on chocolate cake?

I chewed on my lower lip in thought. The very thought of chocolate cake made my stomach gurgle. I had a taste for chocolate, but I did my best not to get too attached to it. It would turn very bad very fast if all I ate was chocolate. Slowly I typed out my message to her and sent it.

Hungary

-What would you put on chocolate cake?

Whipped cream and strawberries. The colors would accent the dark color of the chocolate.-

I didn't have to wait long for a reply back.

Hungary

-What would you put on chocolate cake?

Whipped cream and strawberries. The colors would accent the dark color of the chocolate.-

-Oh, okay! ;) Thanks!

With the messaging ending at that I began to work on making my toffee. I left the phone sitting on the counter as I worked, too engrossed in making sure the candy didn't burn that I didn't notice my phone vibrating. It was only after I knew that my toffee wasn't in immediate danger of turning black when I checked up on my phone for the time, surprised to see yet another message there, or rather, a series of messages from the same person.

Prussia

-Hey Vati! Guess who's awesome?

-Me! That's who!

-You must be busy or something to not reply to the awesome me.

-That's cool, no worries about it.

-Oh, btw, you want to chill at my place sometime?

-Like, tomorrow?

-West will be MIA and I'm going to be all alone.

-Though my awesome self will keep me company!

-Though, awesome likes to share company, right?

I shook my head at the texts, a twitch of a smile appearing in the corner of my lips. I was a bit surprised Prussia would be up this early, but he seemed to be in a rather cheerful mood. I really had nothing to do tomorrow, and I really did owe Prussia for coming to visit me when I was ill.

Prussia

…

-Though my awesome self will keep me company!

-Though, awesome likes to share company, right?

I'm sure the saying goes 'misery loves company'.-

But I am not busy tomorrow. I have no problem in visiting you.-

Although I will need some directions, if you don't mind.-

And apologies for not replying so soon. I was busy making toffee. -

It was only a few seconds before a shower of texts came hailing my way. I did my best to reply as fast as I could.

Prussia

…

Although I will need some directions, if you don't mind.-

And apologies for not replying so soon. I was busy making toffee. –

-Toffee? Awesome! Bring some with you.

-And pack for a few days! Germany's going to be gone longer than I thought!

-How awesome is that?

Oh, I suppose that is awesome.-

I hope you asked him if I could be there-

-Of course I did! Are you doubting my awesomeness?

No, I do not doubt it. But please remember to send me directions before you forget.-

A few more random replies were sent to me before I ever got the directions. It gave me time to find a piece of paper and a pencil to scribble down the address and directions. I didn't want to end up wandering aimlessly in Germany. Although I wasn't expecting to be staying for a 'few days', and I had no idea how long was that in Prussia's dictionary, but I did very little, so I had little trouble making room in my seemingly boring schedule for this trip. Italy would be happy that I got out of the house.

Italy and I were on better speaking terms, now. It seemed that the meeting incident had long been forgotten by the other Italian, but it sometimes comes back to haunt me at random occasions. We sometimes set up times to visit each other, or meet up at some café somewhere. It was nice, seeing that Italy was starting to feel less and less anxious around me, not like he had been all those years ago when I was a different man.

After tucking my toffee away in a safe container after they cooled, I ventured up the staircase to start gathering a few things for my visit to Prussia's place. I didn't have a lot to pack with only two sets of clothing, both identical. All the different clothing had gone to dressing England. Perhaps I should buy a few different pieces of attire when I go. Prussia lived with Germany, which meant clothing was going to be slightly different from the Italian favorites here. I should ask Prussia for some help in the clothing choices. I didn't want to pick up something that would be a bit… strange…

I put a few things in a small bag, tucking it in the corner to keep it out of the way as I sat down on the bed, gazing at my phone. Prussia had continued to text me, so I messaged him back, talking a little about random things. I had to help him find his left sock, for apparently he couldn't find it at all and wearing odd socks would be 'unawesome'. I eventually concluded that the sock either had to be in the dryer or was lost somewhere in the kitchen, as those were the only places Prussia hadn't looked. He swore up and down that it wasn't in the kitchen at all, for Germany would be pissed if he found any article of the older brother's clothing anywhere near the food. He eventually found it in the dryer, stuck to a shirt.

We ended up talking for the rest of the morning and into the afternoon, where he ended the messaging for Germany was apparently demanding him to clean his room. The rest of the afternoon went uneventful and no new messages. I didn't mind. It was peaceful, sitting by the window soaking up some sunlight as I read a book. Perhaps I should pick up a language learning book on German when I visiting Prussia. A new language would be nice, and I had only the vaguest words that I knew that were in German.

I sighed softly, gazing out of the window at the blue sky above. Prussia was nice, but he really would be hard for me to deal with. He was so… out there… and I preferred being on my two feet on the ground. Maybe it'd be good for me, having to be with someone who was far from my own personality for a little while. Hopefully it wouldn't be too long- I didn't want to go bat crazy.

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February 11, 1929- the Lateran Treaty was signed, creating Vatican City and gaining independence from the Kingdom of Italy. Also known as Vatican's B-Day. Which is tomorrow.

Which I will get off my lazy butt and actually type something for his birthday.


	12. Better Late Than Never

Note:

Sorry for the delay! I was a lazy butt as well as had an essay to write for school. I worked through my tired self to get at least something done to keep it the delay from being even longer.

I will also say that I love all you guys who have favorite and follow this story, along with the reviews. You guys make me happy and want to hug you.

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It seemed that whenever something good was planned, God always had the strange urge to throw a wrench into said plans. The very day that I was supposed to leave for my visit with Prussia, I had gotten the sudden news of the Pope stepping down at the end of the month. It was for the best, after all, he wasn't in the greatest shape and simply could not keep up, but at least he could've warned me. The times between popes always drew out the most work for me, mostly in the background, but work nevertheless. Because of that, I had to cancel the trip. Just hearing Prussia whine at the other end of the line made my heart drop to the bottom of my stomach.

God really loved his wrenches.

I sighed softly, stepping back out in the cool evening air. I just finished delivering a box of paperwork I had to go through, organize, and fill out accordingly. Now it was not my problem, and hopefully I didn't have to look at another file for the night.

I wrapped my arms around myself, tucking my jacket closer to my thin frame. The wind had picked up since I was in the building, and with it brought an icy breeze. I hoped there wouldn't be any snow… It was a little late in the season for snow, but the weather had a tendency to do strange things. It would probably be the last hurrah of winter before the much warmer spring and summer rolled just around the corner to greet the Italian streets. I used to not mind the cold, the cool desert breeze back during the days of war always soothed my mind, but now it just seeped into the cracks of my being, sinking its sharp fangs into my flesh to the bone. I appreciated that I didn't live in a colder climate like Russia, where snow and ice was the common landscape.

I was the sole person on the streets, my footsteps quiet against the pavement. The Vatican streets were always quiet at night. Very few ever made it this far, even in a drunken stupor. For the past week I hadn't seen or spoken to any of my fellow countries, having turning my phone off to keep myself from being distracted. Work needed to be done and it wouldn't have been completed if I was off poking at a glowing screen the entire time. I did miss the daily messaging, though. I hadn't exactly left a note saying I would be busy to those I texted the most, namely Prussia and Canada. The news would've long been out by now about the Pope, so I just had to hope they connected the dots and understood my sudden drop off the face of the earth.

Slowly I reached a cold hand into my pocket, pulling out the flat plastic device and pressed the button to turn it on. Now that I had some down time, I could perhaps apologize to Prussia and Canada for my sudden lack of response; maybe check up on Italy to make sure he was doing alright. Yet as the screen loaded up and brightened my face with its eerie glow, the phone suddenly vibrated.

An incoming call.

From Italy.

I stared at the screen for a second, not really comprehending what was happening. I just turned on my phone, and Italy was there barraging me with a call. Mindlessly I answered it, raising the phone to my ear. A mistake. I promptly went deaf in that ear as Italy's shrill shouting took out my eardrum, instinctively pulling the phone away from my head by about a foot. I could barely make out what he was saying, speaking so fast his words slurred together. "Calm down, Italy," I said softly, daring to bring the phone closer to me so my voice could carry to the apparently distressed Italian.

"But why haven't you ANSWERED?!" he wailed. "I've tried calling you for HOURS!" I could sense that he had probably feared for the worse, almost seeing the tears trickling down his face. My heart sank at the thought. I didn't mean to upset anyone by having my phone turned off for a week.

"It's okay, Italy," I murmured, doing my best to soothe him. "I didn't fall down a well or got mugged or anything. I have been busy."

"I-I heard..." the Italian at the other end sniffed, but his voice was less hysterical at least. "But…Vati… I-I…"

He was stammering. I sighed softly, pausing in my walking. "Italy," I said softly. "What do you need?" He never sounded like this unless he lost something important or failed at doing something himself and there was no one else around to do it for him.

"C-can you come to my place?" It was barely a whisper, one that I had to press the phone to my ear in order to catch it.

"Alright. I'll be there in a few minutes… Don't hurt yourself before I get there."

"Gracie, Vati."

I hung up, sighing as I glanced at the time. It was well into the evening, and the streetlamps were the only source of light on the streets. I noticed the mountain of miss called and messages, presumably from Italy. I tucked my phone away and began my way down the road again. I would deal with sorting and deleting those messages later. It was too cold and too late at night to do that sort of thing in the middle of the street.

The walk between where I was and to Italy's place gave me some time to think and reflect on the past week. Things sure had fired up so quickly, but the drama would die down just as fast. The change in Papacy always dragged in unwanted attention, and this act of willingly stepping down hadn't been done in hundreds of years surly brought in the news and critics. I felt a little sorry for the Holy Father. He tried his best, but he just couldn't keep up. Yet from what I've heard from the gossip and news, a lot of people found something wrong in that. I didn't understand why they couldn't just leave him alone. He's an old man, not an angel. I couldn't wait until the dramatics were over and the new Pope was ushered in with less criticism and whining.

I also thought about the canceled trip to visit Prussia. The thought made me feel guilty. I knew I couldn't just leave my work behind and go, but just calling at the last minute to drop out was painful. I had been looking forward to going too… It was such a disappointment when I had to cancel, but, I had to. Being a pathetic excuse for a country came first, with socializing afterwards. Even my birthday had come and gone without me noticing, not that I took much notice on the day of my birth to start. But now that I thought about it, it was on my birthday when the news of the Pope stepping down came to light and that same day I had to drop out of the planned trip in favor of a mountain of paperwork. That seemed to be the worst birthday gift one could receive.

I snorted slightly at the thought, my gray eyes trailing up to take note of Italy's home. The lights were off. I hoped Italy woke up from a siesta and realized it was dark and he hadn't bothered to turn on any lights previously and he was now too scared to venture out into the dark to find a lamp or a light switch. The thought also brought in an image of Italy tripping and falling down the stairs, which I quickly pushed into the back of my head. I didn't want to dwell on the thought of Italy hurting himself for too long. It was depressing. Just thinking of a hurt and distressed Italy made my heart break.

I found myself up at the top of the steps, knocking quietly on the wooden door. I heard a muffled "It's unlocked" from somewhere inside the house. I turned the knob, indeed finding it unlocked and stepped quietly inside, shutting the door behind me. My eyes were used to the dark, Italy's street having very few lights on it. "Italy?" I called quietly. "Where are you?"

"In here!" the voice was slightly louder, although still muffled. He was on the first floor, at least. In the kitchen, perhaps?

Gingerly I navigated through the dark maze, the dark shadows looming out of the darkness. I used the wall for guidance towards the kitchen. "Italy?" I called softly as I reached the entrance to the kitchen, searching for some form amongst the darkness.

Suddenly a pair of red eyes jumped out in front of me, a familiar voice shouting a word at me, but I couldn't comprehend what they were saying for at the same time the lights snapped on.

Blinded and startled, I let out a quiet yelp, instincts kicking in as I flailed my arms out forward, smacking the red eyed assailant before stumbling backward and ending up being blocked by someone's broad chest.

"Prussia, that wasn't very nice," another familiar voice sounded from behind me, a pair of arms wrapping around my thin frame as I tried to blink the white spots from my vision.

"You should've seen his face!" Prussia was on the floor, his pale face reddening as he laughed, Gilbird flying around him in a circle after being dislodged from his perch. Italy appeared in my clearing vision, a concerned look on his face.

"I'm sorry!" Italy wailed. "I shouldn't have tricked you!" Behind him was the familiar form of Germany, pinching the bridge of his nose. Beside the table was a blond-looking man with a long, swooping curl jutting out of his head. He smiled sheepishly as he caught me looking at him. I just blinked at him, the hammering in my chest from the mini panic attack not yet settled down. I stared owlishly at the others around me, before blinking up at whoever was behind me. A pair of violet eyes twinkled down at me, the lips sporting a childish smile.

"I-um…" I gently tugged against Russia's arms, the large man slowly letting go as I straightened up, doing my best to regain my composure. "Um, Italy… what do you mean by tricking me…?"

"We were going to throw you a party!" Prussia shouted suddenly from the floor, his scarlet eyes beaming up at the Italian. "But you were unawesome and canceled out on the plans for your birthday so Italy figured it'd be best to wait about a week and do it here! Hungary even made you a delicious cake… but it didn't last the week." He patted his stomach, licking his lips at the thought.

Germany gave his older brother a look before stepping forward to me. "We decided it was in your best interest to cut back on the people who'd be here. Brother practically invited everyone for the first planned one."

"So we just gathered a few who you know the best!" Italy said cheerfully, his distressed look now turning into a smile as he ran up, his arms wrapping around me in a big hug. "Happy Birthday, Vatican!"

I was taken rather aback. I just stood there, staring at Italy. They…planned a party for me…? For my birthday…? I could feel my face cracking, my lips turning up into an actual smile instead of an usual twitch. My arms gathered around the Italian, tugging him closer to me. "Thank you, Feliciano," I murmured softly. I could feel a trickle of tears escaping down my cheeks, but I ignored them. I was…happy.

I soon found myself in a large group hug, Prussia pulling the curly haired man into the embrace around us Italians, and managing to talk Germany into the group as well. Russia made himself comfortable by pulling his arms around all of us together, a child-like grin on his face as he proceeded to crush us in a strong embrace.

After the little hug-out session Italy pulled out some pecan pie he had made which we all helped ourselves to. Prussia introduced the curly haired man as Canada, and soon all of us had settled around the kitchen table in Italy's kitchen, chatting happily. Prussia laughed loudly and tried to jab Canada in the ribs when he wasn't expecting it, Italy kept making a mess with his pie and Germany tried to no avail to make the Italian correct his sloppy eating pattern. Russia poked fun at everyone in a strange childish way, and at more than one occasion made Italy cringe and almost bring him to the verge of tears. I enjoyed all of it, the conversations, the pie, the comfort of having people around me. It was strange, but in a good sense. Never before had I smiled so much, and so truthfully happy.

The lack of sleep from work and the rush of emotion from the day soon sank into my system as the night drawled on. I soon found myself dozing off, my head resting against the cool surface of the table. Prussia had brought out the drinks after the pie was gone, and most of everyone was helping themselves to it. Canada didn't seem to be too enthralled with the idea of drinking, caring for it as much as I did. He nudged me gently, causing me to open my eyes partially to look at him.

"We should leave the room," he whispered softly, his eyes flickering at the laughing Germans in worry. I slowly lifted my head from the table and nodded. Those guys would begin to get loud soon enough, and I just wanted to sleep. It seemed from the shadows under the Canadian's eyes that he was exhausted as well.

Slowly the both of us escaped the table and made our way to the dark living room, managing to plop onto the couch without jamming our feet into any tables or sharp corners.

"I never had my birthday celebrated before…" I murmured tiredly, snuggling down against a soft pillow. "It was nice…"

"It was pretty good," Canada replied. I could feel him relax down at the other end of the couch. The both of us laid there, staring up at the ceiling.

"Thanks…for coming…" I managed to yawn out, my eyes drifting close.

"Y-yeah…"


	13. Emptiness

**I'm sorry for not posting recently! I've been swamped with courses I'm taking, a Science Fair, essays, and soon, track. I also got lost in The Avengers side of fanfiction, which I don't regret anything. **

**I do regret not getting off my lazy butt, kicking my brain into gear, and typing up a decent chapter. Yet this is not a decent chapter, since I've written it while I was in a crummy mood. **

**I will warn you ahead of time- this chapter is SHORTER than the others, by like, 600 words, and has FEELS. All of the feels. Because Vatican has suddenly turned for the worse in my brain, and I have a disturbing feeling that it's not going to get any better.**

**So, I am SO SORRY. God have mercy on your soul if you continue on and read this. **

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Dreams had never been pleasant for me, especially as of late. The images of the latest chaos of my unconsciousness remained under my eyelids when I blinked, gasping for breath as I stared up at my ceiling. The paint and plaster above me never changes, but the vividness of my nightmares does. It always leaves me and cold sweat and at a lost for breath; my heart hammering hard enough within my chest to crack my flesh open and let me bleed out. Yet the contents of the dreams I quickly shove into the darkest crevices of my brain, locking them away in the most secret of compartments, in hopes to never see their hideous faces again.

It is a wonder why I even bother trying to sleep.

I sat up slowly in my bed once the knocking of my heart slowed to a steady rhythm. Yet this sudden increase of nightmares had started to concern me, even scare me a little. They have become… violent…bloody… whispers of the desires of the demon dwelling within my weak being. They have become stronger, the desire to just simply break things. At more than one occasion I had found myself watching people argue in the store, across the street where I sat on a bench, and just wanted to walk over to them and smash their heads together and watch them squirm in pain. These violent tendencies have become more frequent for my comfort. I began to fear that my hard work in building this wall within me has begun to crack, and if I didn't tell someone about it, it would eventually crumble at the worst time.

Yet, as I sat there, gazing at the far wall, I was at a loss. Who was I suppose to call, to talk to, to explain this problem? I did not want Italy to worry more about me, not since he has begun to trust that I am a new and better person now. Prussia would just think of it as some outrageous joke, and Canada wouldn't understand. Over the course of the month since my birthday, I had since reached out to give small talk to Hungary and through her spoken to Lichtenstein, but I didn't really know those two as much, and I didn't want to burden them with my troubles.

I found myself pulling out my phone, scrolling quietly through the contacts. I mentally checked off the names I had deducted off the list, not wanting to trouble them. I knew, for the most part, they would attempt to help, but it would only be out of friendliness and would only scratch the surface of my darkened world. I chewed on my lower lip nervously, my hands shaking from a building anxiety. No matter who tried to call, I would only be a bother, minutes lost in their busy day. They would have more concerning things to deal with other than a small, insignificant nation's personal problems.

A heavy sigh escaped my lips, my hands falling limp in my lap, my phone hanging loosely in my fingertips. It was useless, as I should have known. This was a problem I would have to deal with alone. Like everything else in my life. It was easy to push me around, order me what to do, drag me to where the others wanted me, but no one had really asked if I _wanted _to do it. I agreed to go to places, be dragged about like a rag doll, mostly because I felt it would be a burden and trouble if I said no. I went with Italy to Russia because I wanted Italy not to feel lonely, but it seemed to me that my main purpose was to serve as a wall between the other Italian and Russia, a distraction for the much larger man. Then I had gotten sick, and became a burden to those who had to take care of me, followed by a birthday party that was delayed, causing even more strife.

A sinking guilt feeling sunk low into my gut as the memories flooded my mind. Was I nothing but trouble to the others?

I rose from my bed, dragging my feet into the bathroom. I found myself gazing at my own reflection, the charcoal gray eyes trailing over my gaunt face, the shadows under my eyes, the unkempt, unruly charcoal hair that had within the last few weeks forgotten how to be tamed. I ran a tired hand through the mane, combing out a few knots. It had grown since the last time I looked at myself, the bangs now handing in my face and the locks almost tickling the collar of my jacket. I would have gotten to scissors to cut it if I was in my normal mood, trying to erase the reminder of my past that long hair brought me, but I wasn't in my normal mood. So I turned away from the mirror, choosing to ignore it.

My morning dragged as much as my feet did as I did my best to clean up my home. Yet I resorted in throwing a whole armful of clothing down the stairs in growling disgust, a bubbling anger rising in my chest. It was quickly drowned out by guilt as I huddled on the steps, wrapping my thin arms around my small frame, as if my limbs would keep whatever beast that laid within from escaping. I rocked a little bit on the stair, murmuring a quiet prayer in Latin to myself, letting the anger die down to the usual hollow emptiness that I was used to before I gathered myself up to finish the laundry.

No one had come visit me since the small birthday party, and I hadn't seen anyone else. In truth, I had stopped the daily conversation with Prussia and Canada, resorting in an occasional 'hello', most of which are never answered. From the little information that had been passed, both were rather busy- one with his own country and the other helping his younger brother. If they were busy, certainly the other countries were busy as well. Yet my loneliness was close to the bottom of concerns compared the severity of business with their countries.

But still… I just wished someone would come and save me.

It was a wish that could never be fulfilled. A fruitless, futile wish that made me even emptier on the inside. The emptiness that weakened the walls of security around the darkest secret I kept. Perhaps it had been useless from the beginning. After years of being chained up in the five by nine room with white and gray streaked marble floors and a small crack that grew across the left wall from the right corner up to the left corner over the course of fifty years in the Vatican, I hadn't erased the demon within me that had caused so many deaths and spilt enough blood to paint all the churches in the world. I had only entrapped it, throwing it in a cage, locking the door and throwing away the key. I thought it would be enough.

But demons can pick locks.

I curled up under the kitchen table, tucking my knees to my chest as I hid under the furniture like a small child. I never knew what it like to be a child, growing so quickly in a chaotic and bloody world of clashing religions and kingdoms that I never experienced any of the simple joys of life. Was there any joys left for me to enjoy? I knew I wasn't the only country with a troubled past- I had read plenty of history books, but right now none of them would help me. My mind was a jumble of thoughts and feelings, mostly of guilt and anxiety.

The sudden vibration in my pocket made me jolt violently, cracking my head on the bottom of the table. I rubbed my head, tears of pain trickling from my eyes as I reached for my phone. It was a call from Italy.

I took a few breaths to steady my nerves before answering it hesitantly. "Um, h-hello?"

"Ah, hello Vati!" It seemed Italy was cheerful. I felt a twang of jealously at the sound of his voice. How could he be so happy all the time? "I wanted to ask you if you wanted to go to a meeting at England's place later this week? You don't have to stay for the meeting, though! You can just meet all the countries when they come in, one at a time! That way you don't have a heart attack or anything." The laugh the Italian gave… I could feel my grip of the phone tightening.

"I-I don't know… I don't think it'd be a good idea…" I murmured quietly, guilt suddenly bubbling up. "But, I will come if you want me to," I stammered quickly, not wanting Italy to feel upset that I didn't want to go. I could almost feel the Italian's smile on the other end of the phone.

"That's good! Don't worry, it isn't a big meeting so there'll only be maybe a dozen or so people present!"

With a quick goodbye, Italy hung up, leaving me in confusion. I didn't know what to think. I was mixed between anger and jealously, but guilt and sadness as well, with a nice dose of loneliness on top. How could Italy just up and drag me to another place without even asking I really wanted to go? How could he be so happy all the time? How could I be so harsh on Italy in my mind? Why didn't he ask me why it would be a bad idea for me to go? And why didn't he just come visit me in person instead of calling me?

I slowly slumped onto my side, curling up into a small ball, the phone left forgotten on the floor beside me. I pushed all the emotions down, trying to shove everything back into the proper box where it belonged. When I turned back to the imaginary room in my mind, all that was left was emptiness.


	14. Forgetting Something Important

**Sorry for not posting as often. I started to type this chapter up and then came to a loss at what to write. Now I do.**

**Reviews are appreciated. I'm glad you guys like it so far. Don't know how long you're going to keep liking it though, it may turn down a very dark road that may not loop back.**

**Note- this chapter contains some language and extreme hinting. Also kind of choppy, because I seriously deleted half of a chapter I had started and wrote new stuff to it. The beginning and the rest do not blend well. Oh well. **

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The days after the arrangements of going with Italy to England's place were chaotic at best. Yet I couldn't say that it was bad. It seemed that the very next day after Italy's call and another night's worth of unconscious terrors, God decided to throw yet another wrench into my life, as I received word that there had been a new Pope elected. Most people would think it was all just pats on the back and carry on with life after that, but for me, it only brought in more paperwork. There were files to transfer, arrangements to be made, papers to be signed. Not only that, I had to deal with swarms of people that suddenly flocked into the small enclave, all eager to see this new Holy Father.

I had the slimmest of false hope that perhaps all this excitement would keep my mind off of the depressing stupor I had seeming found myself neck deep in. The mounds of paper and the close proximity of thousands of people only spiked my anxiety and rattled the cage of my bottled up emotions.

That evening, however, there was a quiet knocking on my door. It was not Italy that I had been half hoping to see, or any other nation for that matter. Instead I had found myself staring at the newly elected Pope, standing quite peacefully at my front door.

It was a surreal evening, in all honest truth. The new head of the Church and myself had settled down at the small breakfast table in my kitchen and talked. I hadn't spoken directly to any Pope since I almost butchered the last one I came face to face with, the same one I almost turned right around and attacked Italy when he tried to stop me. At first I was apprehensive with having the human company, but after awhile I found myself at ease. We talked about various things- the weather, personal problems, even a joke or two (which were pretty stupid, but we both ended up cracking up in snickers anyhow). He spoke about his own slight nerves of being the new leader, and I mentioned a thing or two about my… past issues.

In the end, after drinking a cup of coffee and a few hours of conversation, the man went on his way, leaving me putting a few things with myself at ease. One was that this new Pope would be quite an interesting fellow, and I may just happen to start paying more attention to what he would be doing in the near future. He wasn't all too bad, nothing like the warmongering Popes of long ago, who sat high on their thrones with crowns adorned on their heads, acting more like kings than a humble follower of God. I hadn't quite told him about my previous experiences with Popes, though, but I knew that he would understand and accept it as the past. I could feel that he wasn't a man to condone me, and I knew I had to keep up with his quiet expectations.

The second thing that I could at least tuck away for the time being was my rampant emotions. I did speak of them to him, and he gently guided me to at least mention it to Italy when I got the chance, or better yet, more than one person. I would need all the help I could get, and if more than one person knew of my violent tendencies first hand and not out of gossip or stumbling upon it while I ran amuck hurting myself and others, the better it would be to handle it. I agreed, but I silently dread the time when I have to spill the beans. I just hoped the other nations were as easily accepting when I got to England's place.

The only thing was, I never did go to England.

_Keep walking_.

I didn't even know where I was, nor the time, or even what day it was.

_Keep walking._

My head throbbed with pain, each heartbeat sending searing blood to beat on the inner walls of my skull. My thoughts were in disarray, my memory just a blur of color and a dull roar of noise. The only thing I could think about was keeping my feet moving

_Keep walking_.

But to where? I could barely see where I was going, my eyes forced towards the ground. I could make out the shape of my feet, my brain in such shambles that I didn't quite register that I wasn't even wearing shoes.

_Keep walking._

My body was numb, as if I had been dropped into icy water. I couldn't feel anything, not even the ground that I was walking on. I could feel a heavy weight on my shoulders, a weight that held on by something wrapped around my shoulders and neck, but I did not know what it was, nor could I see it. My hands were weighed down as well, one holding onto the thing in front of my neck, keeping the weight from slipping off, the other dragging something across the ground, but I couldn't hear it. My ears were ringing, deafening whatever noise that was around me, blurring my sense of direction.

_Keep walking_.

I was tired, my eyes wanting to shut, my body wanting to collapse, but something drove me forward, keeping my feet to plant one in front of the other.

_Keep walking_.

Perhaps it was some strange, surreal dream, one that I would wake up at home and carry on with my life. But I did not wake up, my feet kept lurching onward, and my mind was clogged and disoriented.

_Keep walking._

More colors moved about my sight. Something grabbed me, stopping my body, but my feet continued to move, struggling weakly against whatever strength was holding me back. The weight on my shoulders was lifted, and the difference caused my knees to buckle from under me, the colors soon blending into a fading darkness.

There was a dull pain throughout my entire body as I slowly gained consciousness, aching and tired, as if I had ran for miles before falling off a cliff. My head hurt almost as much, but it was greatly less than what it had been, or so I thought. Yet the ringing was still there, a distant, high pitched ringing, like the resonance of chimes that refused to cease. Perhaps it was my phone, and I had accidentally changed the ringtone again. But…when was the last time I even used my phone? Where did I even put it? More importantly, why hasn't it stopped yet?

Slowly I managed to crack my eyes open, a dark ceiling greeting me. That…wasn't my ceiling. I didn't recall going anywhere. My brow furrowed in confusion as I stared at the ceiling, my heart jumping to my throat in silent panic. I strained my brain, trying to remember something to tell me where I was, or what I was doing. The last thing I could recall, I was delivering more paperwork after I had completed it, but after that, everything was a complete blur.

"Oh, you're awake, Mister Vatican."

The soft voice that entered my ears through the ringing nearly scared me to death, jolting me upright in fright. Yet moving wasn't the best idea, for as soon as I began to move, sharp, stabbing pain shot through my entire body, going straight to the drummer in my head to start banging away at the inner walls of my fragile skull. The ringing seemed to intensify, so much so that I didn't hear the speaker get closer, only feeling the hand gently guiding me back down. The person was speaking again, but I couldn't make out the words through all the ringing, and my eyes were screwed shut in hopes that would help appease the maniac inner drummer that was going wild against my brain.

The ringing was soon quieting, and I could make out a pair of voices, but their words were blurred and indefinable. Soon my own thoughts were blurred, the pain dulled, and I was greeted with darkness once more.

It wasn't a dreamless sleep, but it had no defined outlines like my usual dreams of torment were. There were words, but they were muffled and whispered, making them hard to understand. Footsteps echoed in and out of range, the sound of something scraping against wood, a cough, a sigh. There were no images to go with the sounds, no color to set any meaning to the dream of sounds. It was strange, but I did not mind it too much. Anything was better than the nightmares that typically come to haunt me.

Definition slowly developed the words, behind the constant ringing, the humming that seemed to follow me no matter where I went. The voices seemed muffled, distant, but they came closer. A door opened, heavy footfalls entering the room, and then stopped suddenly.

"Oh. Shit."

That voice, it was familiar. I tried to paw through my lethargic mind, trying to place the voice to a name, a face. The feet came closer, collapsing nearby, a chair perhaps.

"This is all my fault."

The voice was sad, pained even. Why was he so sad? But…I knew that voice. That voice had never sounded so sorrowful before. It was almost foreign, compared to the usual curses and backtalk that usually cascade out of his mouth.

Romano was never this hurt.

Another set of feet tried to enter the room, but the Italian beside me snapped at them, ordering them to get out. His typical sharp words of anger seemed to be grounded blunt by the sadness in his voice, making his barking order seem more like a plea. The other set of feet quietly complied, and the door clicked shut.

The place was quiet, for what I could tell behind the ringing. Then there was a heavy sigh, fingers curling around my hand, surprisingly warm compared to my own. Although I wasn't typically warm at any occasion, the chilliness of my flesh against Romano's was startling. My hand must've felt like ice to the other man, but he didn't seem to notice or care, or from what I could tell from the shifting and quiet scraping of the chair that moved closer to the bed.

"I'm sorry, Varinius. This wasn't supposed to happen."

Something was wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong. I wanted to wake up from this dream, find myself in my bed at home, but I couldn't even move in the darkness or the ringing escape me. I knew Romano for a long, long time, and there were things that I knew for sure he never did. One was apologizing, the other was calling me by name. A sinking feeling entered my stomach, starting from my chest and settling down further. The only explanation for this abnormality was something horrible had happened.

Maybe I wasn't sleeping.

Maybe I was dead.

The mere thought of it made me want to cry out, to prove myself wrong, but I couldn't speak. So I focused my attention on the hand that held mine, trying to tell myself that I was, in fact, alive.

My icy fingers slowly curled around the warmer ones, the movement causing a small sigh to escape me. So, I wasn't dead. But then, why was Romano sound so sorrowful?

He was speaking again. I didn't quite catch it at first, my inner panic distracting me and the ringing drowning it out slightly, but when I calmed down from my self-sustained shock, I could make out the words that the Italian was saying.

"…I was so fucking stupid to think that everything would've gone according to plan! And then they turned on me and you showed up and everything went straight to shit." He let out a heavy groan, now both of his hands gripping my hand, bringing them up so my fingers touched his warm forehead. "I thought they killed you. They were going to off me and then you just came out of nowhere! Switzerland said you'd carried me almost all the way here, but…" There was a pause, the warm fingers gripping my ice cold ones like I was hanging off the edge of a cliff. "You weren't even supposed to be alive. I saw them do it. They shot you up close and personal, but you…you're still…"

Something wet dripped onto my fingers, then again. The hands that held me shook slightly, the tremors rippling through my arm. The forehead pressed against my knuckles, resting more weight than usual on them. It was slow, but soon it dawned on me.

Romano was crying.

He was crying because of me.

Yet I couldn't remember what I had done, or what had happened. The words Romano had said drew no conclusion or image in my mind. There was nothing but blurred color and muffled noise, and nothing more. The only clear images I had was the dark wood ceiling above me and my own white plaster one. Between waking up with white and waking up under dark, there was nothing but blurs. The time in accordance between the two memories was drowned out. I didn't know where I was, nor what I had done to leave point A behind and arrive at point B. But if what Romano had said was true, or what little he explained, and something horrible had happened that involved both myself and Romano, and I shouldn't be lying here listening to him sob into my cold knuckles.

What happened to me?


	15. Forgiveness Likes Company

Something was tapping my forehead. A soft _tap tap_. It didn't hurt, nor did it annoy me as I slowly drifted out of my unconsciousness. _Tap tap_. There it was again. It wasn't large enough to be a finger rapping against my skull. _Tap_. It wasn't exactly blunt, curved, but not sharp enough to cause harm. "_Chirp."_

My eyes slowly cracked open, blinking the blurred image clear. A fluffy yellow bird was snuggled down partially in my hair, the small beak pecking at my forehead at a loose strand of gray hair. "Gilbird," I recalled softly, my brow furrowing slightly. Why was Gilbird here?

I managed to unwind one arm from the folds of the blanket, reaching up to pluck the bird from my head. I paused midway though, frowning at the white folds covering my hand and wrist. Did I cut my hand and needed bandaging recently? I couldn't recall ever doing so. I was particularly careful when I handled sharp utensils when I cooked or baked.

I blinked out of my thoughts when the small fluffball of a bird hopped off my head and onto my bandaged fingers, letting out a soft chirp. The extra weight didn't hurt; maybe it was only a superficial injury?

Slowly I tried to sit up against the pillows, suddenly becoming aware at how stiff my body was. How sitting up also made a sharp, stabbing pain shoot up from my sides and straight to my head, causing my ears to ring. Yet somehow I managed, gritting my teeth to keep myself from crying out. I sank down into the pillows, getting used to the new position. My vision, blurred from the movement, slowly refocused once more, allowing me a good look around the room.

The room was spacious, the large queen-sized bed I was lying in made of what looked like carved cherry. The floor was also wood, but stained of a darker tone. The bed was draped in a soft, forest green spread, matching an area rug on the floor and the drapes that hung at the sides of the large window on the other side of the room. The window revealed only a dark canvass passed the glass, making it hard to determine what time it was.

I didn't know this place, but somehow, it put me at ease. With Gilbird with me, snuggling down into my bandaged hands that I cupped in my lap for the bird to sit in, I did not worry much about where I was. It meant that Prussia was nearby, and if he was around, he wouldn't be alone. What I did worry about was what happened before I arrived here- wherever that was. Why was I bandaged up? Why do my ribs hurt?

I take that back- what I worried the most was where did my shirt go?

I found myself gazing down at my torso, a look of horror falling onto my face. I could see the scars crossing over my chest, old battle wounds that I tried not to gaze upon too long. Lower down there was more white bandages, wrapped around my ribs. I was slightly relieved that my sides were covered- I didn't want people to worry if they saw my ribs jutting out of my thin frame, but still, someone had to see them to even take the shirt off and cover me with white strands of cloth. If they saw my front, they clearly saw my back. It was almost all scarred tissue back there. I was very self-conscious of my battle wounds, and the very fact someone had stripped away my shield of clothing disturbed me.

I blew out a soft sigh, wincing at the movement stabbed at my ribs once more. I moved Gilbird to one hand, the other rising to go through my hair, but what I touched wasn't hair. My fingers trailed around my head, a sense of dread falling into the pit of my stomach. Even my head was wrapped in bandages. How injured did I get? What did I do? Fall down the stairs? Hell, I couldn't remember. What if I had gotten into a fight? Did I hurt someone?

The flood of panic only made my head throb worse. I rested by head back against the pillows, lowering my hand to my lap again. I closed my eyes, trying to sort my thoughts out. I could determine that I had some sort of head trauma since I couldn't remember what even happened to me. The bandages around my ribs may proved that I may have either broken them or fractured them, concluding to a fall or a fight. Injured hands could be from either situation also, but I wasn't too eager to find out what was wrong with them. They didn't hurt now, so they mustn't have been too badly injured. And then there was the ringing. My ears, especially my right, rang like there was no tomorrow. It was a dull noise, but I from the fact I heard Gilbird chirp, I had sustained some sort of hearing loss. Yet that part confused me, but I didn't think about it too much. My head throbbed too harshly to linger too much on the uncertainty.

My headache soon died down enough for me to open my eyes again. I gently stroked the small bird in my hands with a finger, soothing my nerves and lulling the fluffy creature to a doze. I myself almost dozed off until I heard the door opening.

I turned my eyes to the doorway, blinking as a small girl stepped in, then stopped to stare at me. She was familiar, but from where…?

"M-mister Vatican! You're awake?!"

I frowned at the girl's exclamation, but her face of shock soon turned into a bright smile before she ran off again. That short blonde hair, the ribbon, the accent- my mind soon came across a name. "Lichtenstein…?" But she was gone before I drew the conclusion. I didn't have to wait long for her to return, as well as several pairs of feet rushing towards the room. The only thing I could do to prepare myself was lift Gilbird over my head before the parade came crashing into my room.

Italy and Prussia were the first to jump onto the bed and into my lap, the albino dragging a stuttering Canada with him. A dark skinned man I knew, but the name escaped me also plopped down onto my bed, clinging to a cursing Romano. I winced as they crowded around me, Romano being the first to struggle free and escape the mob on my lap, sulking slightly behind a tall Germany, Lichtenstein, and a man that looked quite similar to the smaller nation. My ears were ringing from all the noise escaping the nations on the bed around me, causing my headache to spike up.

The blond male-version of Lichtenstein was the first to come to my aid, shouting at the others to get off of me. Or, so I believe that's what he said- I couldn't hear much from the ringing. Germany tugged Prussia off the bed, who dragged Canada along like a rag doll. The dark-skinned man moved to be beside Romano in the corner, leaving Italy on the bed with me. Though, I didn't mind him being there, as even though he was ecstatic to see me, he was careful around me, sitting at the edge of the bed beside me rather than on top of me like he usually does. I was grateful he wasn't this time.

Slowly I lowered my hands back into my lap, the yellow bird not even disturbed by the sudden ruckus that barged into the room. I blinked at Italy, whose mouth was running, but through the ringing in my ears, I couldn't hear him.

"W-what?" I blinked at him, my brow furrowing slightly, trying to listen to what he was saying. "I-I can't hear you very well…"

Italy's smile faltered slightly, the corners slipping down. He licked his lips before opening his mouth again to speak. "We were worried about you," he said slowly. I was able to catch it this time, the ringing dying down a bit.

"I-I'm sorry to make you worry," I murmured, frowning quietly, my fingers absent-mindedly stroking Gilbird.

Germany stepped up to the bed, looking as serious as ever, but there was worry in his ice blue eyes. It sort of unnerved me slightly. "Do you remember what happened to you?" he asked, his voice almost too low for me to catch.

I glanced about the room, my heart falling slightly at the looks on the other nations' faces. They all seemed worried- even slightly angry. I bit my lip, instinctively leaning a little away, only to wince in pain at the movement. Stupid hurt ribs. "I-I don't…remember…" I mumbled. I felt myself shaking, panic welling up inside. I turned my gaze at Italy, my mouth opening before I could think. "I hurt someone, didn't I?"

The look on Italy's face confirmed my fear. I could feel my face crumpling, my vision blurred. "Oh God…" I murmured, choking down a sob. I had failed. I couldn't even keep a promise to Italy. If I hurt another person, I could easily hurt Italy. The worst part of it all- I didn't even remember what I did.

I didn't notice Germany shooing the others out into the hallway, or that Romano had settled down on my other side. I was too enveloped in tears and quiet apologies to notice any of it. I was a terrible person, not being able to keep myself from hurting one single person. I had done so well too! And it was all ruined, in one day, or night, or whenever I did it.

"You idiot," Romano grumbled from beside me. "Those fucktards deserved what they got."

"Si!" Italy chimed in from the other side of me. I could almost hear the smile in his voice. "You were only protecting yourself and Romano!"

"We don't even know if anyone was killed," Germany's voice added from somewhere near the bed. "Russia said he'd go check it out, but I'm more worried he'll finish the job himself."

"Don't be so sad!" Italy said, patting my back gently. "No one's blaming you for what you did, so you don't blame yourself either."

I blinked enough tears away to look up at him through blurred eyes. Italy beamed at me, his smile truthful. He-he wasn't mad at me. I glanced over at Romano to make sure, my mouth opening to ask if any of this was true, but he nodded his head before any words came out of my mouth. "Damn it, stop crying already. It's making my eyes hurt," he grumbled and turned away. I couldn't help but let out a choked chuckle, lifting a hand to wipe my face. I didn't notice that Gilbird had settled onto my head sometime during the crying fit, but his chirp notified me of his presence.

My arms soon wrapped around both Italians, pulling them close to me. I ignored the pains in my ribs or the throbs in my head. I still ached from the thought of hurting someone, but…I had protected them. I protected Romano, defending a man who accepted help from no one. Somehow, I had helped him, and even though I didn't remember the actions I took, he did. I had saved the ones that I held close, and they forgave and accepted the wrong that I'd done to do so. To me, that was all that mattered now.

"_Gratias, Feliciano, Lovino. Gratias agens pro omnia_," I murmured quietly in Latin, pulling them even closer to me. Romano cursed at the proximity, but didn't struggle; only sulked. Italy beamed gleefully, as if he won the biggest prize of his life.

The door suddenly burst open once more and Prussia and Spain- yes, I remembered who the dark-skinned man was- toppled into the room, obviously eavesdropping onto the conversation. "You still remember the awesome me, right?" Prussia said, puffing his chest out slightly, as if the stumbling and the eavesdropping hadn't occurred at all. It seemed his only concern of me was my memory of him. He cared, I knew, even as he was scolded by his taller, blond brother. He just had a funny way of showing it, like Romano.

A faint smile formed on my lips. "Yes, Prussia, I remember you," I murmured. "It seems my memory is only falling short on what happened since waking up in my room, and then waking up in this room." My smile faded though. "I…don't think I am ready for the answer as to why my memory is a blur." I could remember Romano's words, his tears on my cold knuckles. I folded my hands together, quietly pleased that they didn't seem as cold as they did then. I could only handle one roller coaster of emotions at a time, and being told the truth would be too much for me and my headache right now.

With my arms not around the two Italians by my side, Romano escaped the bed, heading straight for the doorway. Spain stopped him though, murmuring something in Spanish that caused the dark-haired Italian to snap angrily, and then wince as the Spaniard wrapped his arms around him. Romano had been hurt as well, but he was much stronger than I was, so his injures healed much quickly.

There was a loud thud that shook the walls, and shouting ensued in the hallways. I could hear that even through the ringing in my ears. Romano and Spain both disappeared out of the room, Prussia hopping right after them. Germany went to the doorway, but only lingered just outside it to look down the hallway to see what the commotion was. Italy curled up against my side, his face paling slightly. I had a feeling that the source of the ruckus was a giant man with a strange accent who wore a white scarf around his neck.

I couldn't make out what the voices were saying to each other due to the ringing, but from the way Italy curled closer and closer to me, I knew that the Russian was getting closer to the room. Germany stepped aside to let the larger man into the room, causing Italy to whimper. Russia noticed me sitting up, his lips curling into an innocent smile, which made the Italian beside me shiver.

I gently unweaved my fingers from each other to pat Italy on the shoulder. "You can leave, if you wish," I murmured softly.

Italy was quick to take the offering, darting out of the doorway at blinding speed. I saw a glimpse of Germany following after, leaving me with the Russian.

I trailed my eyes up at him, blinking as I just noticed his hand was up, a finger barely touching my forehead. "I was told not to go into details," he almost purred out, his lips curling at the corners, turning his innocent smile into a slightly devilish one. "But you did a fine job, my friend."

I just stared at him, his finger gently tapping twice against my forehead. His fingertip was cold, causing a slight shiver to run through my spine, but it soothed the headache rapping the inside of my skull. "I-I don't remember, but…um…t-thanks…?" I didn't know what to say to his words, but I could only imagine what he was hinting at. The thought made me shiver slightly and pushed the it into the imaginary round file in my head. The Russian just smiled at my words, his violet eyes peering down at me from behind his large nose, seeming quite pleased at whatever I had done.

I didn't know how long he just stood there, but somewhere between the minute or so, I began to feel heavy with exhaustion. I didn't notice that my eyes had drooped shut, or that I was slowly slipping back down into sleep. But, I did vaguely notice that his knuckles were gently pressed against my forehead, the mattress sloping down as he sat beside me. The coolness of his hand wavered off the headache, letting me lull to the darkness without any struggle.

When I woke up, both the Russian and my headache were gone.

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**Translation: Latin- ****_Gratias, Feliciano, Lovino. Gratias agens pro omnia_**** English- Thanks, Feliciano, Lovino. Thanks for everything.**

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**Sorry for a chapter in which nothing really happens yet lots at the same time. Just hang onto your seats, dear readers, for next chapter, I promise, will be about what happened to Romano and Vatican. **

**Also, as you obviously have, or should have noticed, Russia and Vatican seem to be quite chill with each other. No, it is not a lovers' ship. It is not even a cuddling ship. This is solely based on an RP I was in where Russia and Vatican were like bros. Yes, they are bros. Cool, chill bros. ( I actually like the Russia and Prussia ships, but that's probably not going to happen here). **

**Speaking of ships, it's about time some of them show up. I hinted at a few, but it's time for Vatican to face the music that some bros like bros over hoes. **

**IF ANYONE ACTUALLY READS THESE NOTES, you can put in the review which ship you'd like to see pop up, or even characters that I may or may not have skimmed over. **

**Like Japan. Who wants to see Japan again? Or any other characters? How about FinlandxSweden or something?**

**Does anyone even read the bolded notes at all? **

**Even if I say I hate France because he's a whiny little electric socket that wants someone to stick a fork into? **

**Because you know he is.**


	16. The Evil Hiatus (Author's Note)

If no one has noticed yet, I am currently being a massive bum. My lack of posting anything results from a combination of finishing up finals, sending transcripts, graduating, changing schedules for college next year, trying to find a job, and having the worse case of writer's block for this story ever. So what else is there to do with all of this?

Hiatus.

Yup, I am officially calling hiatus on this story. Ever since I posted chapter 16 and promptly deleted it because it sucked so bad, I figured that I need to find my muse, my mojo, my happy place, before going off and posting more crappy chapters.

In truth, I actually have about 100 words in for the new chapter 16, but I have long lost my touch and knowledge on what the hell I was going to type. So it's going to sit there for a bit, collect dust, and hopefully something strikes me awesome that is actually related to Hetalia, because right now I got some serious thoughts about a Kuroshitsuji story AND a HomestuckxPokemon crossover, neither of which have anything to do with Hetalia.

Yeah, my brain likes to torture me.

Anyway, I am going to hop onto the hiatus bandwagon. Feel free to write horrible reviews and PMs because I left the plot hanging after I promised you lot I'd get it done. Also, I do enjoy a good RP. I am rather used to the ones where you have to write out everything like a story instead of the 'Joe: blah blah' sort of RPs that I've seen lurking around, though I think I could do both...

I'm digressing. Anyway, hope you guys have a happy hiatus, because I'm sure I'm going to end up writing a fanfiction for a completely different anime.


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